Cultist-chan and the Glorious BolognaTown Groxburger Crusade
by roisaber
Summary: Road trip! Join Cultist-chan and friends on a completely degenerate trip across the galaxy as they destroy an inhabited planet, narrowly overpower a little girl, hide from some very ill-tempered Space Marines, and permanently cripple an interplanetary conglomerate.
1. Cultist-Chan v Common Sense and Decency

**Cultist-chan v. Common Sense and Decency**

Nurglebro cackled with inhuman delight, and the skies of Simi Secundis roared in sympathy. A bolt of disfigured light briefly linked ground and sky, igniting a conflagration in one of Simi Secundis' last, desiccated forests. The wildfire would go on to burn 3,172 homes, 211 businesses, one hospital, and cause 287 casualties – all of those at a nightclub where the New Kids on the Block were still plying their hideous trade. To the collective relief of most of the planet's inhabitants, no one escaped from the concert alive. Nurglebro had no way of knowing this, however. He was transfixed by the beautiful object before him. After years of painstaking labor and Nurgleslist searches, his great, monstrous project was finally complete.

Cultist-chan shifted in her sleep, stirred by the sound of thunder, and she slowly and unwillingly returned to consciousness. She'd been out late the previous night running errands for Dranon, who'd promised her five shiny pennies if she returned with all the items he requested next never. Finding headlight fluid had been especially difficult for her. Cultist-chan hoped that the admixture of saliva, discharge from her pet Kay-oss' anal glands, and one can of warm PBR she'd compounded would suffice. Another rumble of thunder rolled through her apartment.

"Hwuell, hour afhthernoon nap ith shot," she reflected ruefully.

She rolled off her mattress and glanced around her fetid apartment for something to do. Cleaning was, naturally, an option, but it was against her religion to straighten up the filth in her small studio. After all, Chaos should apply to her life at every level, from planetary crusades right down to the moldering clothes strewn about the small studio apartment situated two blocks from the BloodSea. There must be some secret order to the arrangement of stained socks and torn sleeves; in a pair of semen-crusted underwear she saw her pious adoration of Slaanesh. A box of moldy, maggot-covered Chinese takeout was a dedication to Nurgle. The pattern of rumples in her stained and matted duvet symbolized Tzeentch. And, of course, the ruthlessly massacred roaches that still twitched in one corner showed her faith in Khorne. Chaos was like an undulating river of love – full of individual eddies and whorls, but still a flowing, undivided whole.

Cultist-chan vigorously scratched her asshole and pondered what to do for the rest of her day. Dranon had demanded that her task take her no fewer than three days, so it wasn't yet time to return from the scavenger hunt. Slaanesh-chan was on vacation on Commorragh, disguised as a Dark Eldar. That left Nurglebro, and, as luck would have it, he lived a mere three blocks up the same street.

"Kayyyy-otthhhhh," Cultist-chan called out in a singsong lisp. "Hwhere are hwou?"

Kay-oss bounded out of the warp and tackled her. Gleefully, she allowed one of his searching tongues to enter her mouth and intertwine with her own. After a minute, she finally broke free of his embrace and shoved the large, enthusiastic creature off of her.

"Hwou tasthe leik hyour ballth," Cultist-chan reflected aloud, drawing from personal experience.

He thrashed his tail enthusiastically.

"Hlet'th go for a walkth, boy! Leth go see Nurglebro!"

One of Kay-oss' three heads barked enthusiastically, and Cultist-chan grabbed him by the scruff of his nearest neck and dragged him down the stairs behind her. Her door shut with a thump, and was immediately opened by a pair of daemonettes who used Cultist-chan's apartment as a makeshift brothel whenever she was away.

The day was exceptionally picturesque, as things on Simi Secundis went. The air was pregnant with static electricity; the bolt of lightning Nurglebro inadvertently conjured wouldn't be the last strike of the day. Brown, dusty clouds billowed furiously and blocked out the sky which was no bad thing. Warp storms boiled in the space above the world and emitted intense radiation across the ultraviolet spectrum, and the barrier of dirty clouds ameliorated the worst of it. Simi Secundis was ensconced deep within the Eye of Terror, or, as it was known to the locals, the Smiling Nebula. Kay-oss did his best to bound after Cultist-chan, but it was hard for him to maneuver with her hand clamped tightly around one of his throats.

"Hwu ith the thweetitht little boy? Hwu ith? Hwu ith it?"

Kay-oss managed a strangled bark out of his bruised voice box.

"Thath right!"

Cultist-chan skipped cheerfully down the street. Many people were out taking full advantage of the brief lull in radiation to take a stroll down Bloody Beach Boulevard, and Cultist-chan was surrounded by Humans and Orks and Eldar alike, all loving devotees of Chaos. There was even a corrupted Zoanthrope, a curious sight even for Simi Secundis. Cultist-chan peered at it and Kay-oss suddenly started barking angrily.

"Thhhhh, be nieth," Cultist-chan cooed gently to the agitated beast. "Hwue can have frienth of all races."

Kay-oss eyed her dubiously, but obediently quieted down.

The broad street was lined with shops, cafés, restaurants, and small offices. Cultist-chan passed an architectural firm, a law office that specialized in mediating conflicts with chainsword cage matches, a brewery, and a druggist. The pair stopped at a vendor cart to get waffles, and the daemon manning the stand gave them to her for free, knowing that she was a good friend of Slaanesh-heika and could inadvertently call down the wrath of the Warp goddess at any time. Kay-oss chomped on the waffle greedily and Cultist-chan patted one of his heads with a broad smile. They strolled onward.

Cultist-chan pounded furiously on Nurglebro's door when they arrived. Kay-oss patiently returned to licking his balls, paying careful attention to the most sweaty and pungent patches of hairy testicular skin. After a minute, Nurglebro opened it and glared at her suspiciously.

"Hiiii!" Cultist-chan enthused.

Nurglebro sighed. "I guess it _would_ be nice to have someone to share this moment with. But of course it just had to be you. Why don't you come inside and follow me to the garage?"

Cultist-chan entered Nurglebro's small suburban home. It was kept meticulously clean, except of course for the diseased and ruinously mutated houseplants in pots scattered throughout the house. Nurglebro winced as Cultist-chan left dirty footprints on his sparklingly clean tile floors, but he was secretly relieved to see her. He hoped that she'd be proud when she saw what he built – and maybe proud enough to allow him to bend her over one of the seats and hatefuck her pussy raw. He opened the door to his cluttered but clean garage and ushered her inside.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Nurglebro asked her, admiring it himself all over again.

"Hwuat ith it?"

Nurglebro was irritated. "It's a 987.M39 Folkswagen Type 2! An absolute classic of spaceship engineering! I've been assembling it in my garage for years now, and today, I finally finished. I ran all the diagnostic routines this morning and it's officially spaceworthy!"

Cultist-chan eyed it dubiously.

"Ith lookth a little… hurickethy," she observed.

It did. The ship was rectangular and boxy, and the engines looked like they were connected to the ship by nothing more than duct tape and prayers to the Heretek god. The brushed metal exterior was pockmarked and scarred, and there was a big crack in the forward windshield of the ancient vessel.

"Shows what you know," Nurblebro countered. "I built half of this ship by hand and I can guarantee you it's as safe as anything that takes off from Simi Prime Spaceport!"

"Naht reathurringh," Cultist-chan muttered under her breath, but Kay-oss barked excitedly, moved by Nurglebro's obvious enthusiasm.

"Hwuell, if Kay-oss thinkth ith safe, I believe him," she said, hugging the strange, unnatural creature. "Hwhere are we going?"

"Who said we were going anywhere?"

"**Road tripth**," Cultist-chan suddenly shouted at the top of her lungs.

Nurglebro winced; his ears were ringing. "What?"

"Road tripth. Hwou know, geth a bunch of friendth togethther, go thee the sigthth somewhuere?"

At first, Nurglebro was hesitant, but the more he thought about the idea the more he liked it. He wanted an opportunity to show off his hard work to his friends, and getting off Simi Secundis sounded like a great idea. It'd been ages since he'd been offworld, and it would provide him new opportunities for him to spread the loving embrace of Nurgle to new locales.

"For the first time since I've known you, you might actually have a good idea there, Cultist-chan. Got anywhere in mind?"

Cultist-chan bit her lip, drawing blood, and carefully pondered the question.

"Hwuell, hwhen hwe hwere a little girl, hwe usedth to get the tathtieth groxburgerth you could possibleh imagine. There hwas a resthtaurant called BolognaTown with hundredth of franchizeth on my homeworld. Of coureth, hwe'd have to go into Imperium spaeth…"

"We're doing it!" Nurglebro said, surprising himself with his own sudden conviction. "Let's get the crew together and we are all going to eat a BolognaTown groxburger."

"Yayyy!" Cultist-chan cried, while Kay-oss barked with glee.

"I'll call Dranon."

"Hwuill he want to come?"

Nurglebro smiled evilly. "He will if I tell him Khorne is sending him on a Crusade."

Cultist-chan shrugged; she'd already lost the thread of conversation. She idly stroked her hand along Kay-oss' ample flank, drawing three gargled, disharmonious purrs, and, she also noticed, an erection.

"Thhhh, not now," Cultist-chan told him, drawing a disappointed whimper from the beast.

"That's right," Nurglebro finished, speaking into his vox-caster. "So you better get here right away, Dranon."

He turned back to the girl, and toyed at the ground with the toe of his boot. "To tell you the truth, Cultist-chan, I've never actually _been_ on a road trip. What do we need to pack?"

"Has little as poththible," she replied with a nod. "Idth more advethurous that hway."

With that, she bounded up the open gullwing door and aboard the small spacecraft. A Type 2 Folkswagen was meant to be a short range craft, capable of carrying 11 people uncomfortably through Warp space for no more than a few days at a time. Kay-oss jumped in after her, knocking her into the seat and drawing a bemused grunt from her compressed chest.

"Thit in the back and be good," Cultist-chan ordered, pointing towards the rear of the passenger compartment. "Go on."

Kay-oss clambered over the seats and sat on his haunch in the rear corner of the cabin. Cultist-chan reached under the bench seat for the customary board game and was disappointed when she came up empty. Still, she was looking forward to the road – that is, space – trip more than she'd anticipated anything in years. It would be an opportunity to bond with her friends and with any luck make new ones. The vinyl seat was discolored and worn through in several places, exposing the yellowed, wispy insulation within. The passenger cabin was surrounded by transparasteel windows, allowing an almost 360 degree view of the inside of Nurglebro's garage. The ceiling was quite low and Cultist-chan would have to bend halfway over if she wanted to stand up; she hoped that Dranon would be able to sit fully upright without having to hunch over the entire time. The command seat was surrounded by buttons, levers, switches, pedals, panels, and screens, and reminded her of the time she was the proud but brief owner of her very own spaceship. Everything seemed out of date and disheveled which was no surprise – the Folkswagen was over two millennia old and many of its parts had been cobbled together by enthusiasts.

Other than that, the passenger cabin had a few amenities specially selected by Nurglebro for the comfort of his passengers. The middle row of seats had been removed from the compartment, leaving an open space just large enough for Cultist-chan to fully lie down. In one corner of the living space left by this omission stood an elderly but hard-working minifridge. There was also a bong, which Nurglebro must have spared no expense upon. Apart from the central bubbler, there were three diffuser chambers stacked one on top of the other, further cooling the smoke and removing particles and impurities. It was astonishingly clean, lacking the yellowy resin that built up over time in all but the most meticulously maintained pieces. It amused Cultist-chan to think that a devotee of disease and decay would go to more trouble to keep his bong clean than the average Imperium hippie.

Nurglebro boarded the Folkswagen and lovingly stroked the old-style mechanical helm.

"We'll be leaving soon, sweetheart," he crooned to the vessel.

"Hwat?"

Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "Not you. _Her._"

Cultist-chan looked around in confusion, trying to figure out who Nurglebro was talking about. "Hwho?"

"You… you're so damn stupid! _Her_. The ship! The ship is the her!"

"Hwadth her name?"

Nurglebro paused. He hadn't decided yet, but it would be bad luck to depart before naming his vessel. Suddenly, he had a flash of insight. At just that moment, Dranon burst in.

"Where's the Crusade?" he demanded, eager to get away from Slaanesh's constant sticking him with the task of babysitting Cultist-chan.

"Hwe're righth here," Cultist-chan exclaimed with a wave. "Hwue are leavfing on a gloriouth BolognaTown groxthburger cruthade!"

Dranon's face was completely hidden by his helmet, but it fell anyway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he groaned. "What's she doing here?"

Nurglebro grinned, overjoyed to have an opportunity to twist the knife. "Khorne said he was totally pissed at you. You have to come with us and spread the glory of kayyy-oth to BolognaTown."

"Fuck you," Dranon replied wearily.

But the truth was he'd already given in. He was so used to being sent on unpleasant errands by the Warp gods for no appreciable benefit that he automatically assumed that Nurglebro was telling him the 100% unvarnished truth. Plus, he still had a guilty conscience after adopting a small kitten he found huddled under a broken-down groundcar; it wasn't the kind of thing becoming of a battle-hardened Chaos Marine. Even more damningly, he'd named the kitten Snuggles. Kay-oss barked.

"Now that we're all here, it's time to christen the ship!" Nurglebro exclaimed. "I dub thee, _Ebola Borealis_."

With that, Nurglebro smashed a bottle of Korbel champagne across the ship's hull, rocking the vessel from bow to stern. The bottle cracked before finally giving way, and left a large dent in the outer shell of the ship that seemed to have done more damage to the vehicle itself than the light glass bottle. Disregarding common sense and decency, Nurglebro ushered Dranon into the passenger cabin, refusing to give him enough time to reconsider risking Khorne's theoretical wrath to avoid the guaranteed agony of spending days in cramped quarters alongside Cultist-chan. The hulking Chaos Marine only barely fit in the small passenger cabin, and the top of his helmet barely brushed against the ceiling whenever he sat straight up. He groaned again.

"Enough bitching," Nurglebro ordered.

Dranon groaned again.

Nurglebro clambered into the pilot's seat and shut the gullwing door. "Okay, let's go on a road trip!"

_Ebola Borealis_' engines coughed, sputtered, and finally flared to life. The rickety vessel lifted off the garage floor and out into the small amount of wan warplight that managed to force its way through the heavy cloud cover. Nurglebro angled the ship towards space and throttled up the engines, ignoring a half-hearted attempt by Simi Prime's traffic control to offer him departure clearance. Nobody ever paid the remotest attention to Daemon Prince Ronald Reagan's union-busting control tower, and midair collisions were a weekly occurrence over the capital city, often killing hundreds at a time. It took ten minutes of hard acceleration before the Folkswagen escaped the atmosphere and entered the harsh light of the Eye of Terror.

"Ith so beauthiful," Cultist-chan said pensively, staring out the window and gently rubbing Kay-oss' belly.

"I need a fucking smoke," Dranon muttered.

Even knowing that it would do nothing to his genetically engineered physiology, Dranon took a giant hit from the bong anyway, struggling to line the glass lip of the water pipe up with the mouthpiece of his helmet. He drew a big puff of smoke through the successive chambers, and, sure enough, didn't feel a damn thing. Still, just the sensation of smoke in his lungs was a profound relief. He'd been trying to give up cigarettes rather unsuccessfully, and smoking out of the pipe restored some of the thick, black tar his lungs were so acclimated to. To his mild surprise, Cultist-chan held out her hand, demanding the next hit.

"Fuck, whatever," Dranon groaned, knowing it was going to be a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very long trip either way.

Cultist-chan greedily took a huge gulp of smoke from the bong. Kay-oss padded over, and she opened her mouth into his and shotgunned the used smoke into the lungs of her darling pet and lover. She started coughing furiously, and Nurglebro busied himself by fiddling with the navicomputer, trying to convince it to orient itself to _something_ within the swirling storms that characterized the Eye of Terror. Minutes passed in silence as the ship's climate control desperately struggled to keep the cabin at room temperature despite the pounding radiation filling the Eye.

"So, where are we really going?" Dranon asked Nurglebro.

The other man shrugged. "Wherever the beloved Powers take us, I suppose. I can't get this navicomp to work for shit."

Cultist-chan gazed out of the window into swirling maelstrom. Contrary to expectations, cannabis actually made her quiet and introspective. Her brain felt like it was ringing between her ears, and she could hear an illusory sound in her ears that reminded her of tinnitus. She continued to rub a very content Kay-oss, who was also feeling vaguely high from the secondhand smoke and welcomed her caress with quiet enthusiasm.

"Shit fuck ass balls," Nurglebro announced.

"Fucking what?"

"The Warp drive isn't working. God damn it, all the diagnostics said it was fine this morning!"

In direct contradiction to his words, the Warp drive finally engaged and the _Ebola Borealis_ went "higher" into Warp space. For an hour, the Folkswagen was buffeted randomly by the intense energies of the Warp. Dranon and Nurglebro joked, swore at one another, worked to repair an exhaust line that ruptured and spilled radiation into the passenger cabin, and waited, wondering where the Warp would ultimately spit them out. Meanwhile, Cultist-chan gazed out of the windows, enraptured by the hypnotic, undulating rhythm of the Immaterium.

Some time later, there was a small explosion and all the lights in the ship went dead.

"God damn it, what the fuck was that?" Dranon demanded.

"I don't know!" Nurglebro pounded the computer, hoping that a round of percussive maintenance might bring it back online. "All the systems were green when we left!"

Cultist-chan realized that the ship's Warp shields were down just as a daemonette stepped out of unreal space directly into the cabin of the Folkswagen. The Warp was kinder to Chaos devotees than it was to the fascist Imperium, and the daemonette waved to the three with her claw.

"Hey, guysssss. Iiiiii'm Wendy," the daemonette hissed.

Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Iiiii'm just here to say hiiiiii."

Wendy caught sight of the minifridge, and over Nurglebro's irritated protests she opened the door and absconded with a beer before vanishing back into the Warp.

Nurglebro hauled back one more time, and smashed the screen of the main computer so hard it cracked under the force of his blow. This was enough to get the stray wiring back into place and it flared to life, along with the rest of the lights on the ship. The Warp shield came back online, too; hopefully that would spell an end to the beer pilfering. Nurglebro brought the ship back under control and throttled up its engines once again, trying to surf the undulating waves of raw energy that made up the deep Immaterium.

The three tried to keep themselves occupied as minutes ticked into hours. They played I Spy, which rapidly became disappointing since most things in sight began with C for Chaos. The ID Transponder game was a non-starter, since there was no vessel close enough to pick up its identification frequency and Cultist-chan was illiterate anyway. The same went for the time-honored game of Geography. No one took Cultist-chan up on her offer to play "Things I just found in my panties." Finally, Nurglebro dimmed all the lights and suggested they move on to spooky stories.

"I suggested it, so I'll go first," Nurglebro announced. "One day, a daemonette was babysitting her best friend's spawn while she was out on a Crusade. She was the best babysitter a cultist could ask for. She fed the fingerlings from her ample breasts, she played card games with them, she gave them all a bath and only drowned a few, and she tucked them all in at night. Then, she got a call on her vox-caster."

Cultist-chan leaned forward, listening intently to the story.

"She picked up the vox-caster and heard, 'I'm going to finnnnnd you and eaaaat you,'" Nurglebro said, mimicking a spooky voice.

Cultist-chan whimpered, and Kay-oss nuzzled her with one of his faces.

"Well, she hung up the vox-caster and got really scared. But people make prank calls all the time, so she finally got over it and went downstairs to watch a movie. It was a reenactment of the 11th Crusade, and she got really into the story of the heroism of bold and glorious Chaos forces. So much so that when the vox-caster rang again, she peed herself right there on her couch. Terrified, the daemonette picked up the caster. 'Hello?' she asked nervously. 'I'm going to eeeaaaaaattttt you!' screamed a voice on the other end of the line."

"The daemonette was so frightened that she slammed down the receiver and immediately called 666. 'Hello, this 666, what is your emergency?' 'Oh, I've been receiving the most terrifying vox calls! Someone is threatening to kill and eat me and I'm all alone with my friend's spawn in my cave!' The emergency operator didn't answer for a minute while she traced the call."

"Yeth? Yeth!?" Cultist-chan demanded, terrified out of her wits.

"Finally, the 666 operator came back on the line. 'Get out of the cave right now!' Because you see, the vox call was coming from _inside the cave!_"

Cultist-chan let out a piercing shriek, which rang throughout the cabin forward and back. Dranon just rolled his eyes.

"Nurglebro, that's the oldest one in the book. Now let me tell you something _really_ scary…"

"On the battlefield, you see a lot of fucked up shit sometimes. But the scariest thing I've ever seen was a tall, thin man with no face wearing a suit and tie. I only ever saw him once, during a fight on Cadia. He moved without making a sound, and he didn't show up on heartbeat detectors or infrared or ultraviolet imaging either. He didn't have an aura and he made no psychic impression on the Warp. I saw with my own eyes as he walked up to one of my mates, a good man, a true paragon of Chaos, and then the slender man tapped him on the shoulder and they both disappeared. Neither of them was ever… seen… again."

"Sooo scary," Nurglebro answered sarcastically, ignoring the girl's whimpers. "How about you, Cultist-chan?"

She thought about it carefully and then started telling her story. It started out uneventful, even boring, and then Dranon gasped in disgust and then horror. It built upon itself, creating the most biologically explicit things he'd ever heard. He'd seen men carved with chainswords on the battlefield, and that wasn't nearly as disgusting as the words coming out of Cultist-chan's mouth. Dranon shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat.

She finished, "Hand then, zthey dithcoverthd that her womb wath full of squirming, wiggling blowflieth!"

Dranon groaned in repulsion, but Nurglebro sported a bulging erection he didn't even try to hide.

"Oh, Cultist-chan," he whispered. "I never knew you could talk so _dirty_."

Dranon turned to glare at the Nurgle worshipper. "You are fucking sick."

Nurglebro preened, causing one of the boils on his face to erupt and drip pus down his cheek. "_Some_ of us realize that all life is precious to Papa, even things most people find abhorrent."

The ship's computer pinged, and Nurglebro returned to the pilot's chair to discover that the Warp was just about to spit them out in an unknown location.

"Better strap in, we're coming out into realspace," he advised his much-relieved crew.

All at once, _Ebola Borealis _crashed through the veil separating the material from the Immaterium and came to a halt relative to the central star in the system they'd just infiltrated. Nurglebro immediately started fiddling with the navicomp, trying to convince it to divulge their location based on its analyses of the star fields that surrounded the ship. It was slow going; the computer was thousands of years old, and, while well-maintained by a hobbyist, it simply wasn't up to spec with the latest equipment from Nolevo or Shotiba. Finally, it spat out an estimated answer.

"Oh, shit," Nurglebro said. "Imperium space, Segmentum Tempestus. We appear to be in the Tuchanka system. But, hm, that's funny – the navicomp says there's a huge gravitational anomaly present in the system. In fact… holy shit, it's close! Wait, what the…!?"

There was a resounding clang as _Ebola Borealis_ ran directly into the anomaly, and, for a full minute, the ship spun completely out of control.

* * *

Stay tuned for the next chapter, **Cultist-Chan v. The Space Hulk**

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	2. Cultist-chan v the Space Hulk

**Cultist-chan v. the Space Hulk**

The Folkswagen's computer pinged over and over, failing to drown out either the loud hiss of atmosphere escaping the breached passenger cabin or Cultist-chan's terrified shrieks. They'd exited the Warp right on top of a Space Hulk - a massive accumulation of dead ships, asteroids, and space debris, and Nurglebro hadn't noticed it in time to take appropriate action. A jagged sliver of broken hull had gashed open the underbelly of the Folkswagen, nicking open the pressurized compartment and damaging the ship's internals.

"Oh holy fuck! Holy Chaos fuck!" Nurglebro cried, randomly jabbing buttons in a blind panic.

Cultist-chan's took a breath and then let out another cacophonous scream. Actually, by that point, it seemed like she was screaming just for the fun of making noise.

Dranon grabbed Nurglebro by the scruff of his neck, and very deliberately slammed the Nurgle worshipper face first into the helm panel. Shaken, Nurglebro turned to face the hulking Chaos Marine. His nose was bleeding.

"What the fuck was that for!?" Nurglebro demanded over Cultist-chan's ongoing screech.

"Get yourself together, man!" Dranon ordered. "None of the rest of us can pilot this ship, and if you panic we're all dead."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Nurglebro muttered.

The Folkswagen was gracefully spinning away from the space hulk, propelled by the jet of air escaping from the pressurized cabin. Nurglebro recovered his senses enough to glance at the ship's status display and he wasn't heartened by what it was telling him. At the rate they were currently losing oxygen, they only had fifteen or twenty minutes before the cabin was completely depressurized. While every passenger vessel in the Imperium was required by law to carry spare oxygen tanks for personal use in case of emergency, infamous Daemon Prince Ronald Reagan had created no such regulation, and Nurglebro simply hadn't bothered. He took a few deep breaths of escaping oxygen, trying not to hyperventilate.

Next, Nurglebro tried lighting up the Warp drive. Entering the realm of pure Chaos might not turn out to be the most comfortable possible experience for the passengers of the _Ebola Borealis_, but it would be a damn sight better than suffocating to death in the vacuum of real space. It didn't take Nurglebro long to scratch that plan, too. The ship's primary coolant line was ruptured, and the vessel would unceremoniously explode if he tried to make the jump without adequate coolant pressure. A bead of sweat appeared on his blistered forehead as he considered their dwindling options. To the profound relief of all aboard, Cultist-chan finally stopped screaming.

"Hwuat's that?" she suddenly asked, pointing out of the window at a section of the Space Hulk.

Dranon followed her finger with his eyes. "Hey, Nurglebro – she's right. It looks like part of that hulk is actually online. There's lights on and everything."

"…Yes, you're right," Nurglebro announced with some hesitation. "The sensors say that a section of the Hulk has atmospheric pressure. Oh, and lifeforms aboard. The hull is too thick for me to determine anything more than that. But that's bad news, man – we don't know if they're Space Marines or Tyranids or Orks or what."

Dranon countered, "Well, what are our options?"

Nurglebro threaded his fingers and thought out loud. "We could definitely make it to the active portion of that hulk, but we have no idea what's lurking in there. On the other hand, we _know_ that the Tuchanka system is held by the Imperium, and they won't be happy to see us if they discover we're from the Smiling Nebula."

Nurglebro paused, and then laughed out loud. "On the bright side, getting to Tuchanka is a moot point anyway. We have nowhere near enough air to take us all the way to the planet, so we're basically just dead anyway. Plus, I can't engage the Warp drive without blowing us to all fuck."

"So the Space Hulk it is, then?" Dranon asked.

"Well, what about you, Cultist-chan?" Nurglebro turned to face the girl. "Should we go to our certain deaths, or just our _probable_ deaths?"

Cultist-chan screwed up her face and thought about it. "Hwue liek death."

Dranon and Nurglebro looked at one another.

"Hwhuen it'th happening to other people. Hokay, let'th vithith a Thpace Hulk!"

A bundle of nerves, Nurglebro took control of the Folkswagen and started navigating it towards to the living portion of the space hulk. He did a long-range sensor sweep of the system one more time. On Tuchanka itself, it looked like the primary city had recently endured a severe orbital bombardment, and several places were glowing with enough radiation to indicate the detonation of nuclear weapons. To his dismay, he noticed that three Enforcer-class capital ships had pulled around the primary planet's single, unusually large moon, and were cautiously heading outsystem to investigate the Space Hulk. The Folkswagen was no match for a lightly armed child let alone the Imperial navy, and a series of possible scenarios played out in Nurglebro's head, all of which ended badly. He cautiously got the _Borealis' _attitude back under control and slowly nosed it closer to the space hulk.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dranon asked, peering over Nurglebro's shoulder and analyzing the computer display.

"The Imperial Navy? Yes, it sure is."

"Hwue liek teal bether," Cutlist-chan contributed.

The pair ignored her.

"We don't really have much of a chance, do we?" Dranon asked.

"Not really. It'll take me at least an hour to repair the ruptured coolant line, and that's assuming that I have enough parts. If we manage to dock in a pressurized bay it'll take about that long to get the oxygen tanks refilled. We can fill them concurrently, but we'll have to patch the tear in the hull as well or it'll be a moot point."

Nurglebro scratched one of the boils on his face. A thin stream of pus dribbled out, and he sopped up some with his finger and put it in his mouth.

"How could there be an operational module on a Space Hulk, anyway?" Dranon reflected out loud.

"Fuck if I know. But it sure beats getting blown apart by the Navy."

The cabin continued to hiss with the sound of escaping oxygen. Nurglebro slowly eased the _Ebola Borealis _nearer to the operational ship. As they closed in on the other vessel the _Borealis' _sensors did a better job of disclosing what they were dealing with. The other vessel wasn't part of the Space Hulk itself, but was docked and linked to the rest of the colossal amalgamation by an umbilical cord of pipes and wires. There were three life forms on board, but the sensor battery was still unable to determine their species. The ship had made no effort to hail them – and Nurglebro's tentative request for communication went unanswered. It did have its name painted on the side of its dark hull in iridescent paint, and it identified itself as _Melia's Folly._ Slowly, unwillingly, Nurglebro drove the _Borealis_ within range of the ship's three powered-down guns. After a minute of continued silence from the deadly cannons, he finally reopened his eyes.

"I guess they're not hostile," Dranon said.

"I wouldn't guarantee that just yet. It's strange they haven't bothered to acknowledge us."

Seeing few other options and not wanting to wait for the Imperial cruisers to close in on their location, Nurglebro activated the magnetic docking clamps and connected the _Borealis_ directly to one of hatches of _Melia's Folly_. The next problem was the other ship's airlock – it was shut tight and refused to open. Nurglebro tried several standard codes, including out-of-date emergency overrides sometimes used by Imperium police forces. No luck.

"I can't get it open," Nurglebro admitted nervously.

Cultist-chan strode forward, pushed Nurglebro aside, unhitched her Septispike and struck the airlock once with all her might. To the combined amazement of Nurglebro and Dranon alike, it hissed and slid open.

"How the _fuck_ did you do that?!" Nurglebro demanded.

Cultist-chan just shrugged. "Ith lookth tired."

"Forget it, Nurglebro," Dranon cut in, unstrapping his chainsword and stepping in front of the pair of nearly-helpless cultists. "Let's see who's on this ship."

It didn't take them long to find out. The trio could hear panicked voices echoing across the corridors from the starboard side of the docked ship. The three intruders made their careful way closer to the source of the sound. Dranon held his chainsword at the ready. Cultist-chan fiddled nervously with her septispike, occasionally tossing it into the air and catching it again. Nurglebro was armed with only a weak .22 caliber bolter, which was an ideal weapon for hunting down varmints but left something to be desired when it came to actual self-defense. Suddenly, Cultist-chan missed a catch and her septispike fell onto the deck with a loud clatter.

"Hey, what the fuck's that then?!" cried an angry male voice from the room down the hall that had been the source of all the arguing.

Nurglebro and Dranon turned to glare daggers at Cultist-chan. She shrugged guiltily.

A grease-stained mechanic in an orange speedsuit strode angrily out of the room and waved a comically large wrench until he caught sight of the three Chaos devotees. When he screamed, he screamed almost as loudly as Cultist-chan, which set her off next. The pair screamed until they were almost out of lung power, took a second look at their villainous opponent, and then started screaming again.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dranon helplessly yelled, adding to the din.

Another mechanic came out of the room, saw the tableau, and added his scream to the growing concert.

"Shut up!" Dranon barked. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

A third and final mechanic, this one a raven-haired woman, exited from the work room. In one smooth motion she grabbed the heads of her two companions and knocked them together like coconuts. The two immediately went quiet and slid peacefully down to the deck. Sympathizing with the female mechanic immediately, Dranon reached back and cracked Cultist-chan on the top of her head with his armored fist, sending her sprawling to the floor. After a brief series of shrieking echoes, the ship finally returned to merciful quiet. The dark eyed woman glared at the intruders torn between suspicion and curiosity.

"Who _are_ you?" she asked. "What are you doing on my ship?"

"We're- " Dranon began.

"Travelling salesmen!" Nurglebro immediately put in. "That's right, travelling salesmen."

The pale, pretty woman snorted. "Why's he wearing Chaos Marine armor, then?"

"Being a travelling salesman is a dangerous job," Nurglebro interjected before Dranon could answer.

The woman paused, and then started laughing uproariously.

"Oh, this is too rich. You don't really expect me to believe that do you?"

Dranon held up his chainsword menacingly, but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"I don't _care_, you know," she explained. "We're rogue traders. It's not like I'm going to call the Emperor to tattle on you. The planetary governor offered us a great deal of money to retrieve a Space Hulk for him, but I think we might have bitten off more than we could chew. It's almost impossible to get this thing to go where we want it; it's a minor miracle that we managed to bring it into the Tuchanka system at all. And once we got here all of our hails to the governor went unanswered. We were considering just bailing on the whole project, but the Warp drive we Ork-rigged appears to be offline for good. My name's Melia by the way. You're on my ship, the _Melia's Folly_."

She held out a grease-stained hand. Dranon carefully, hesitatingly shook it, watching her like a hawk for any sign of treachery.

"Dranon," he finally told her. "And that annoying heap of shit cluttering up your deck is Cultist-chan."

Melia nodded at the two mechanics who were also unconscious on the deck. "Those idiots resting their eyes are Emory, and Hudson."

Next, she turned and offered her hand to Nurglebro.

"I just go by Nurglebro," he said.

"Oh!" Nurglebro took her hand, and she pulled him close and whispered, "You and I will have to talk soon."

"You _do_ know there's an Imperial fleet closing in on this Hulk, right?" Dranon demanded.

"Whaaat? Please tell me you're joking."

"No joke. It looks like your governor guy might be down for the count."

"Oh, shit. What's their ETA?" she asked with obvious worry.

Dranon shrugged and looked at Nurglebro.

"An hour," he answered nervously. "Maybe two. They seemed to be taking their time with a cautious advance."

"Shit!" Melia punched a wall, bloodying her knuckle. "All that work for nothing."

There was a brief pause. Melia was worried about the total loss of not only her fee, but also all of the work they'd put into getting the Hulk moving. Nurglebro, on the other hand, was worried that they'd never get out of the system alive with an Imperial fleet closing in and a crippled spaceship.

Nurglebro said, "Actually, there's something we want to ask you. If you're rogue traders, maybe you'll trade with us?"

"What do you have in mind?" Melia asked with an unreadable smile.

"Our ship got damaged when we entered the Tuchanka system. We need to repair our coolant hose and a small gash in the hull. Additionally it'd be nice to get a total refill on our oxygen reserves."

"And what are you offering in return?" Suddenly there was no mistaking Melia's sultry tone.

"What?"

Melia reached forward, grabbed Nurglebro by the sleeve, and started pulling him towards the work room where the _Melia's Folly_ was connected by an umbilical cord to the gigantic Space Hulk. Dranon started to follow the pair, and Melia turned and shot him a nasty glare.

"Could you, like, give us a minute?" she demanded.

Dranon looked at Nurglebro, who shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be fine. If they wanted to kill us they could ha– well, I'm sure I'll be fine."

Melia led the Nurgle monk into the umbilical room. Despite Nurglebro's technological acumen, he was completely taken aback by the vast array of pipes, wires, computer equipment, and gears. The whole thing looked like the fever dream of a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and Nurglebro looked into Melia's dark eyes and was astonished to see two deep wells of competence and confidence.

"I was raised in an aristocratic family on an Imperial Core World," Melia explained, before reaching out and grabbing Nurglebro's growing bulge through his robes. "I got all the finest genetic engineering and I've never been sick once. No hangovers, no migraines; I've never even had a common cold. I've _always_ been curious about what it feels like to be sick. I used to watch holovids just so I could see what it was like, but it was never the same the same as the real thing. I'm so jealous of people who can get sick. Coughing looks _so_ orgasmic."

Nurglebro couldn't believe what he was hearing, but in spite of his shyness he couldn't help but lean into her touch.

"Soooo…" she continued, running her hand along his syphilitic cheekbone. "I'll help you fix your ship, if you pound my pussy until you make this little dream come true."

Nurglebro had to concentrate hard to keep from climaxing in his robe.

"I'll do it," he breathed. "Papa Nurgle will be so happy for me."

She paused. "Damn. That Imperial fleet is still on its way. We don't have a lot of time."

"Don't worry, I'll be fast," Nurglebro answered with complete honesty.

Without a moment's hesitation, Melia stripped off her speedsuit and panties, giving Nurglebro a good look at her naked body in the dim lighting of the umbilical room. She was gorgeous as only a genetically-engineered aristocrat could be. Her breasts were larger than average, but still firm and pert, and her erect nipples were ruddy in the light of the cabin. Her face was thin and angular, reflecting the aquiline features that the Imperial aristocracy so thoroughly prized. Her dark eyes sparkled with masochistic intent. Her hair was glossy and even though it was mussy with grease, Nurglebro still felt his shaft thrust helplessly of its own accord like an animal. He allowed his eyes to follow her down.

Her stomach was toned and well-muscled. No matter how many men she'd slept with in her life, from the perspective of a Nurgle cultist she was still entirely virginal. Her porcelain skin was flawless like an intact hymen, just waiting to be penetrated by the parasitic forces of motherhood. She was an untilled garden begging to be transformed into a mother; with Nurgle's seed planted in her, Melia could give birth to millions of new, squirming lifeforms. Nurglebro panted as he imagined her given totally over to Nurgle, dripping writhing maggots covered in pus out of her cunt after raising them to adulthood on the soft, tender flesh of her womb. His hips thrust mercilessly, searchingly towards her body. Without waiting another instant, he dropped his robes and climbed on top of her.

"Oh, yes," Melia panted, searching his boil-covered body with her calloused hands. "Do me. Do me, do me, do me, do me!"

Nurglebro obeyed. He thrust his shaft forward, and her pink lips parted to accept him inside of her. She was already sopping with female juices, and he gently slid in and out, acclimating them both to the sensation. It'd been years since anyone had been willing to have sex with him, and he was desperate to savor the moment as long as possible despite the Imperial fleet closing in on them. For her part, Melia moaned, panted, and squirmed underneath his searching thrusts. Fluid dripped down her perineum and slid over her asshole, tickling it and bringing her to new heights of pleasure. She reached down and squeezed a particularly thick boil on his ass until it popped, making him moan in a combination of pleasure and pain and almost causing him to come prematurely.

"I hope I get herpes," she breathed between grunts. "Oh yes, give me herpes. Herpes and syphilis give it all to me you sick fuck."

Melia shuddered as his penis itched against the walls of her pussy. With each thrust she felt more feverish, and more desperate for his eventual and inevitable release. She was thrusting wildly against him, now, bucking beneath him as if she were trying to throw him off. But she only wanted him deeper. She could feel the ribbing that the boils offered the surface of his penis sliding around inside of her, and the friction of their movements caused tiny tears in her vaginal walls, bringing their blood together and mixing it as a single entity. She gasped and they both came simultaneously. Melia felt it as Nurglebro shot load after load of sickly yellow cum into her thirsty pussy. She hugged his hot, feverish body tightly to her own, squeezing her breasts with his shallow, heaving chest.

"So good," Nurglebro whispered in her ear, still thrusting. "Oh Chaos you are so good."

The pair continued to lie intertwined, until Melia finally pushed him off with a laugh.

"We have work to do," she explained. "And there's still an Imperial fleet bearing down on us."

Melia picked her panties up off the deck and pulled them over her tender pussy, not wanting to lose another drop of the life-bearing liquid slowly dribbling down her thigh. The pair put on the rest of their clothes and Melia luxuriated in the decadent wet spot slowly gluing her pubes to her panties.

"What kind of line are you using?" Melia finally asked, still flushed.

"What?"

"What kind of coolant line are you using? TFX-36?"

Nurglebro shuffled inside his robe. "Well, we're on an _older_ ship."

"TFW-36?"

"A little older than that. _Ebola Borealis _is a Folkswagen Type 2."

Melia hesitated, and then suddenly burst out laughing. "By the fucking Warp. I don't think we've got anything that'll fit a ship that old, we'll have to Ork-rig it."

"We don't exactly have all the time in the galaxy," Nurglebro replied nervously.

"Come on."

The pair walked out of the umbilical room, only to find Dranon glaring at them furiously.

"What the fuck took you so long?" the Chaos Marine demanded.

"Exactly that," Melia answered with a wink.

Dranon shook his head. "You're sick. All of you are sick."

Cultist-chan finally returned to consciousness, and she rubbed her aching head with her palm. "Hwhaut happeneth to us?"

"Never you mind," Dranon told her. "Look, we have _got_ to get out of here. Can I remind you there are three Enforcers on their way, and I don't think they'll be happy to see us?"

Melia scratched her itching crotch and considered the problem. "Well, with the governor dead, this Space Hulk isn't worth anything to us anyway. We can just cut it loose and get the fuck out of her when your ship is repaired."

She kicked one of the still-unconscious forms huddled against the floor beneath her. "Get up, Hudson. It's no time for napping."

The man woke up severely concussed and hallucinating, and it was clear he'd be little help to them in the time they had remaining. Her other subordinate, Emory, was in marginally better shape.

"What happened to me?" the blond-haired man asked with a groan.

"You fell and hit your head," Melia told him. "Look, we need to convert some TFW-36 line into something that will fit an old Folkswagen. Got any bright ideas?"

Emory looked at the three Chaos followers with alarm. "For _them_?"

"Yes for them. What, are you a political or something? Get your ass in gear damn it."

Emory picked himself off the deck and scurried into one of the ship's other rooms. Melia turned and looked back into the umbilical room longingly.

"We spent so much time and money bringing it all the way here, and now we have to cut it loose," she grumbled.

"Hwue have an ithea," Cultist-chan offered.

Melia looked at her dubiously, and then looked at Nurglebro, who shrugged.

"You're cutting it loose anyway – what harm can she do?"

"Famous last words," Dranon muttered, but Cultist-chan woozily entered the umbilical room without resistance.

The other two followed Melia, leaving Hudson alone with the fevered dreams of his bruised brain. Melia led them to a workshop where Emory was laying out a series of tubes, pipes, and solenoids.

"This one's too thick," the engineer muttered.

"That's what she said," Nurglebro whispered to Melia, slapping her on the ass.

The woman giggled. "Have you tried using QuickSteel?"

Emory eyed her. "We've only got one tube left."

"It doesn't matter," Melia answered with a sigh. "This job's bust, anyway."

"I think I can rig up a bypass," Emory finally answered hesitantly.

"Okay! I'll go see about patching their hull."

Melia rapidly donned a space suit, careful not to pull the crotch of her panties away from her sloppy pussy. She wanted to keep Nurglebro's filth-ridden jizz inside of her for as long as she possibly could. He helped her with her suit, checking and double-checking all the seals and gaskets of the only membrane that would separate her from cold, unfeeling death in the void.

"How do I look?" Melia asked through the suit's speaker while Nurglebro handed her a metal plate and a blowtorch.

"Like you'll make a fine mother for millions of precious little children," he answered.

She only laughed.

Melia left the airlock and got to work on patching the hull of the Folkswagen. The Imperial fleet had covered almost a third of the distance, advancing cautiously towards the Space Hulk, unknowing what to expect and unwilling to commit their total force to a potential trap. Emory was still mixing and matching various pipes, occasionally pasting a pair together with QuickSteel putty that was almost as strong as the metal itself and which was famous for drying with extreme rapidity. Dranon stood aside with his arms crossed, totally useless without something to break or someone to kill.

"Did you two really?" Dranon whispered conspiratorially to Nurglebro.

"Really what?" Nurglebro answered with contrived innocence.

"You know, do it."

Nurglebro laughed. "Sure did."

"You sick fuck."

Suddenly, the entire ship shook from bow to stern, rattling their teeth in their skulls. All three looked at one another in alarm.

"Could the Imperial fleet have arrived already?" Dranon wondered out loud.

"Shit, I hope Melia is okay!" Nurglebro added.

Just at that moment, Cultist-chan strolled casually into the work room.

"Hwue fixth it!" she announced enthusiastically.

Dranon moaned, "Oh Tzeentch. What exactly did you fix?"

"The big thip wath athleep. Hwue woke ith up by thining to it," Cultist-chan announced proudly. "Ith thaid it would do anythinth to get away tho hwue kepth singing!"

Emory rushed over to one of the computers and did some rapid typing.

"Melia, are you okay!?" he cried over the comm.

"Yeah," her panicked voice came through the speaker. "I was able to latch onto the Folkswagen with one of my magnetic clamps just as that space hulk started rocketing off. What the fuck happened up there?"

"I don't know! One of those Chaos loons just said she 'fixed' it."

"Well she almost got me killed," Melia answered acidly. "Anyway, I'll be back aboard in five minutes. I hope you have the coolant bypass ready."

Emory went back to the makeshift contraption on the work table. He gave it a quick once-over with a handheld scanner, and finally nodded once in satisfaction.

"It's not going to hold forever, so you guys better get this looked at as soon as you can. However, it'll be enough for you to warp jump out of the system before the Imperial fleet arrives."

A new klaxon suddenly sounded, and Emory went back to the computer. "Shit! Er, or, maybe not. The Imperial fleet saw the space hulk start to move and now they're heading this way at full thrust. We have maybe twenty minutes."

Emory picked up the makeshift coolant bypass and shoved it into Nurglebro's waiting arms. He took it with a grunt; the thing was damn heavy.

"Hurry up and take that to Melia," he urged. "And you! Big guy! You better start pumping air onto your ship through the feed tube at the airlock right away! You want something to breathe when you decouple, right? I'll go release the umbilical cord."

Cultist-chan followed him curiously into the room where the umbilical cord to the space hulk was operating. "Hwo can whue helpth?"

"Just… shut up while I concentrate!" Emory mumbled. "What the Hell did you _do_?"

Cultist-chan shrugged. "Hwue trieth talking to the thip'th AI over the comm. We sang to it for KAY-OUS. It thaid that in eventh of KAY-OUS intruthion it wasth to thelf-destrutth and it tharted moving."

"We're hooked up to an ancient Imperial vessel we made a few basic repairs to," Emory reflected out loud. "I guess we got enough of it operational to get its computer systems online. Damn, the Hulk is really starting to pick up speed. Where the Hell does it think it's going?"

"Hwue don't know."

Reluctantly, Emory started engaging the emergency manual releases for the various cables and pipes. They were losing thousands of credits of materials out in space, not to mention the enormous fee that the governor had offered that would've set the entire crew up for life. What had been an easy job for a government official had suddenly become a struggle for their lives, measured in mechanical aptitude rather than skill with a chainsword. As was customary for any repair, several parts decoupled improperly, and Emory found himself grateful for Cultist-chan's dubious help; she was all too happy to assist by hammering on a stuck valve with all her strength. Together, they slowly freed _Melia's Folly_ from the suicidal Space Hulk.

"Finally!" Emory shouted as the last copper pipe finally shattered and sent tiny shards of metal scything into the void. "Okay, I'm going to the bridge. You go see Melia and your friends. Nice meeting you, I hope we never see each other again!"

"Bye!" Cultist-chan answered.

She stepped over the groaning body of Hudson and returned to the airlock. There, Melia had stripped off her spacesuit and was saying her final goodbyes to the Chaos devotees.

"Those repairs are only temporary so don't push it too hard," she explained to Nurglebro. "If you give it more than 40% juice your reactor is bound to blow."

"I'll be gentle," Nurglebro promised.

There was a pause.

"Well, it was nice meeting you folks," Melia said. "Dranon!"

They shook hands.

"Cultist-chan!"

Cultist-chan, for no humanly explicable reason, raised Melia's hand to her mouth and licked it.

"Nurglebro!"

For Nurglebro, it was a supremely awkward goodbye. Melia was the first person who'd taken a shine to him in a very long time, and she was already running out of his life, probably forever.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked her hesitantly.

"Sorry," the woman replied with a thin smile. "I've just gotta be my own woman. But…"

She grabbed the crotch of her speedsuit with her right hand. "Hopefully, you gave me a little something to remember you by. Now get out of here – the Imperials will be within firing range any minute!"

The pair hugged, and then the Chaos devotees clambered into the Folkswagen. Sure enough, the interior was holding its barometric pressure, though the ugly gash in the hull had been repaired with a big metal plate pasted over it with welding solder. Nurglebro sadly decoupled the _Ebola Borealis_ from _Melia's Folly_, and the pair drifted apart, separated by darkness of space and darkness of Nurglebro's pining heart. Dranon and even Cultist-chan managed to keep a few minutes of respectful silence.

"Where is that Hulk going?" Dranon demanded, waking Nurglebro from his self-pitying reverie.

Nurglebro blinked. "It seems to be heading right for the Tuchanka. Cultist-chan…?"

The viewscreen erupted as the Imperial ships started opening fire on the massive Space Hulk.

"Hwue don'th really know," Cultist-chan admitted. "The thip theemed very depressed."

Nurglebro continued to charge the _Borealis_' Warp drive while they watched the drama play out in space. The three Imperial ships completely ignored the rogue trader and tiny Chaos craft, instead choosing to deal with the threat offered by the looming Hulk. The three Enforcers pummeled it ruthlessly, blowing massive chunks of debris away from the defenseless "vessel." On the other hand, no matter how much they fired, the Hulk was still enormous; it was nearly the size of Saturnian moon Enceladus, and though they were delivering colossal damage, it still wasn't enough to slow its inevitable approach to Tuchanka. The rogue trader flashed into the Warp, and Nurglebro gently eased their own Warp drive up to 30%. The three watched on the ship's long range sensors as the Space Hulk barreled its way into Tuchanka's atmosphere, and there was a single, inexpressibly bright flash of light as it impacted the crust of the stricken world.

"Well, that's that, then," Nurglebro breathed. "I can't even imagine how much radioactive waste and Chaos-knows what else was aboard that Hulk."

Dranon shook his head. "That world's toast. You're a monster, Cultist-chan."

Cultist-chan protested, "Hwue are not a monthter!"

"Hwue are a loyal thervant of KAY-OUS!"

* * *

Stay tuned for the next chapter, **Cultist-Chan v. a Little Girl**

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	3. Cultist-chan v a Little Girl

**Cultist-chan v. a Little Girl**

Cultist-chan awoke to Kay-oss enthusiastically licking her face. Groggy and bored, she sat up in the bucket seat and peered over Nurglebro's shoulder.

"Whow many more lithyearth? Hwhen do hwue geth there?"

Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "We're in the Warp. Who the Hell knows?"

"Hwhere are hwue going?"

"Same answer. Chaos gods, we should have brought more rohypnol for you."

They'd been travelling through the Warp for seventy straight hours after leaving the devastated Tuchanka system behind. Cultist-chan had driven Dranon and Nurglebro to distraction, and they finally kept her in a state of continual sedation by feeding her roofies. Unfortunately, they were finally out of the precious white pills that kept her gums from ceaselessly flapping. Nurglebro hoped and prayed they came across a credible exit from the Warp soon; if they exited into realspace by simply turning off their drive, they'd likely end up in the cold, abandoned waste between stars and Nurglebro wasn't strictly sure he could get the Warp drive started again after turning it off. The Folkswagen was running hot, though still within tolerable levels. He kept a careful eye on the analog temperature gauge.

In the back, Dranon snored peacefully, the mouthpiece of his helmet amplifying the sound and causing it to echo throughout the cabin. The rohypnol was the only thing keeping Dranon from tearing Cultist-chan's head off, and Nurglebro worried that when he woke up and discovered Cultist-chan conscious, there might be trouble.

"Whow many more lithyearth?" Cultist-chan asked in a singsong voice.

"Oh for the – Cultist-chan, try looking out the window!" Nurglebro was desperate now. "See that big thread of pink light weaving through the shifting colors?"

Cultist-chan peered out of the window. "Yeth, hwue thee it."

"That's the I-5 webway. It looks tiny from all the way over here, but it's actually dozens of AUs across."

"Hare hwue going over there?"

"Fuck no. The Eldar are not yet enlightened to the joy of Chaos, and I doubt they'd be happy to see us."

"Hoh." Cultist-chan was quiet for a minute. "Huwhy do tho many people haet Chaoth?"

Nurglebro almost tossed her a pat answer, but then thought about it. It was one of the most philosophical questions he'd ever heard from the dumb but devoted girl, and he didn't want to insult her by giving her anything less than his honest opinion in response. He stared into the undulating, maddening chaos of the Warp, feeling an irritating tingle in his brain as it struggled to make sense of the hallucinatory patterns. Finally he spoke.

"I guess it has to do with the psychology of sentient beings. When I was a priest in the Ecclesiarchy, everything was easy in a lot of ways. You believed what your brothers told you, you followed the commands you were given, and you didn't have to think about any kind of deeper answer. It was easy to worship the Emperor – they told us he was a living light, shining brightly to all the corners of the galaxy and purging every evil thought and deed from the minds of the righteous. The only thing I had to give up in exchange for that sense of absolute righteousness was my soul."

"The Ecclesiarchy put fetters on my imagination – no, it did something much worse. It gave _me_ the chains to take my imagination and lock it in the basement, and they told me I was a sinner if I _ever_ took that deformed, brutish, but somehow innately free creature out into the light. I was punished many times for drawing pictures, or writing little limericks, because the thing the Imperium fears most isn't Chaos – it's themselves."

"They don't hate Chaos because we're different from them; they hate us because we're their true face. It's not like the myriad planets and stars vanish when a Warp rift opens, but they do transform into a higher level of life. Human beings – and Tau and Eldar for that matter – are terrified of transcendence. They're terrified of change. So they've locked their Emperor up for 30,000 years in a tomb and made him a hostage to escape the inevitability of change. And then they dare to say that he's a god! He's not. He's a sad, lonely, pitiful prisoner and a desiccated figurehead for a desiccated empire. For me, the choice between the Ecclesiarchy and Chaos had nothing to do with Warp gods or a distant Emperor, it was a choice of whether I loved myself, or hated myself. I chose Chaos because I looked deep in my heart and found love. All the Church had to offer was hate and emotional self-flagellation."

Cultist-chan rubbed Kay-ous' hard, knobby skin, eliciting a deep purr from the happy creature.

"Hwue underthand," Cultist-chan said out loud, surprising him. "Kaoth hath always rewarded us for exprething ourselth."

"It's pretty strange to hear you say that. I guess I always assumed you were just an idiot."

"Ith the huway we talk. Slaaneth-chan thayth ith cute."

Nurglebro rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, there's that, too. Your total inability to comprehend the real magnitude of – well – anything in the Emperor-damned universe!"

"Hwue try!"

Nurglebro rubbed his temples and consulted a paper chart of the Warp drawn some 5,000 years prior. The Warp was like a five-dimensional chessboard, and pieces of it were continually moving relative to one another. Colossal structures of _prime immateria _coalesced, grew, and dissolved; some appeared and disappeared in seconds, while others lasted millennia. The chart was almost entirely useless, as most of the landmarks had disappeared thousands of years beforehand, while others had changed shape unrecognizably or moved hundreds of megaparsecs. No wonder he'd gotten it for such a good deal; its seller had conveniently left out its age before handing it over.

"Maybe if I made you get out and push," Nurglebro muttered, subconsciously referencing Cultist-chan's inexplicable luck.

"Hwue can't run tho fast, hwue think."

Dranon stirred and finally woke up.

"How many more lightyears? When do we get there?" asked the armored Chaos Marine.

Nurglebro answered more explosively than he intended, "I don't _know_!"  
Dranon was hurt. "Sheesh, you didn't need to bite my head off."

"Sorry. I can't express to you how many times I've heard that question over the past seventy hours."

Cultist-chan suddenly pointed to a small discoloration not far from their port bow, and moving rapidly along with them.

"Huwath that?" she asked.

Nurglebro answered, "Fuck if I know. Dranon?"

"It's the Warp. None if it makes a damn bit of sense to me."

Nurglebro edged the ship closer to the anomaly. "That _might_ be a Warp tear. Uh, Cultist-chan, I really don't know if I can get the Warp drive back on if we exit. Are you really sure about this?"

"Hwue thinkth it lookth interething!"

Nurglebro was hesitant to trust their lives to Cultist-chan's ongoing luck, but there was no doubt that the Chaos gods favored her for whatever inexplicable reason and her luck had held out for them so far. He nosed the _Ebola Borealis_ through the small tear in the Warp and then they were back in real space. Nurglebro immediately set the navicomp to try to determine where they were.

"Hwue recognith thith system!" Cultist-chan announced excitedly. "Ith Yothemite Prime!"

"Yosemite Prime? Never heard of it."

"Ith a paradith world. My parenth took me here on vacathion huwhen hwue where little. Hour spaththip broke down, and a niceth man at a thervith thation fixth it."

Nurglebro brought up the navicomp's available information on Yosemite Prime. Sure enough, it was a paradise planet used by the upper crust of the Imperium as a vacation destination. It was still active volcanically, and had a wealth of geological wonders that made it one of the most popular places in the Imperium for rich outdoorsmen. It wasn't considered a strategic asset and it was very sparsely populated in spite of the moderate amount of traffic coming and going from the world, and it was very likely they could slip in with their Folkswagen more-or-less unnoticed. The navicomp accepted a torrent of data from orbital satellites, offering advertisements for various attractions and a full list of stores and services available on Yosemite Prime. Nurglebro piloted the ship in line with the queue waiting for clearance to enter the planet's atmosphere.

"Do you remember who fixed your ship, by any chance?" Nurglebro asked. "Maybe if we put a respectable outfit on you he'll remember you and we can get some repairs without seeming too suspicious."

Cultist-chan screwed up her face and thought about it. "Hwue think hwue'd remember hith name if hwue thaw it."

Nurglebro tossed her the handheld display for the navicomp, and patiently followed the ship ahead of him in queue.

"Please identify your vessel," a bored voice suddenly crackled over the Folkswagen's intercom. "We don't read your ID transponder."

Nurglebro hadn't bothered to install one. Nobody in the Chaos worlds gave three quarters of a damn who you were.

"Sorry control, it's offline." he lied. "We got hit by a stray asteroid and it damaged some of our communications equipment."

"Do you have your VID number available?"

"Give me a break, control. A VID is 256 megabytes long. I didn't memorize that many ones and zeros."

There was a brief pause from the planetary traffic control.

"We read your vessel as an old Folkswagen Type 2. Is that correct?" the official asked when he returned.

Nurglebro answered, "Copy that."

"You're cleared for final approach. Please get your transponder repaired at the earliest opportunity. You can be fined up to 1,000 credits if you get caught flying without an operational transponder per Imperium law."

"Will do. Thank you, control."

Nurglebro breathed a sigh of relief. Sure enough, Cultist-chan's uncanny luck had held; they could have had a serious problem if the local Planetary Patrol had decided to issue them a citation instead of buying his story about the damaged transponder. On the other hand, Yosemite Prime was a resort world, and it wasn't good for business to drive away tourists. Besides, from the point of view of space traffic control, it was highly unlikely that a ship as small as a Folkswagen would show up carrying a contingent of armed Chaos Marines, Tyranids, or Necrons. Even a smuggler would be hard pressed to fit enough of anything aboard such a craft to make blockade running worthwhile.

"Hwue found it!" Cultist-chan exclaimed.

She passed the display back to Nurglebro, who looked it over the entry carefully. Sure enough, she'd pulled up the PlaceBook page for a small, full-service garage, one of surprisingly few that graced the resort world. He had no way of knowing whether Cultist-chan really found the right one from her memory, but it was good enough for the task at hand. The garage was located on the night side of the planet, in a small desert near a jagged range of granite mountains known for their climbing. Nurglebro eased the _Ebola Borealis_ into one of the air traffic highways and kept carefully to the speed limit; the last thing they needed was any sort of encounter with Johannas Law. It took them two more hours to reach Fix-It Ralph's, and by the time they arrived, it was just before one o'clock in the morning local time.

Cultist-chan tried, and failed, to make herself look presentable. She hadn't brought any changes of clothes so she smelled rather ripe, and it took the combined effort of Dranon and Nurglebro to prevent her from dousing herself with bong water as a makeshift shower. As it was, they ended up just giving her Nurglebro's robes in an effort to hide as many of her scars, tattoos, and scandalous curves as possible, and the Nurgle cultist shivered in his skivvies while Dranon helped her put it on. She didn't look good, but at least it would be difficult to make out her scarred face in the dark. She climbed out of the Folkswagen's gullwing hatch, and shoved Kay-oss' faces aside as he tried to follow her out of the ship.

Fix-It Ralph's was literally in the middle of nowhere. There was no other building, or road, or any sign whatsoever of human habitation as far as the eye could see. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, interspaced with fast-moving air and space traffic rushing to their respective destinations. The air was cool and crisp, and it didn't smell of the industrial pollution that clouded most worlds of Chaos and the Imperium alike. The garage was humble with two small hangars attached to a little one story house. One unlit sign announced that this facility was Fix-It Ralph's, and he had the best prices on spaceship repair in the entire quadrant, though such marketing was totally lost on the illiterate Cultist-chan. A light came on in the house.

Cultist-chan pounded on the house's screen door, putting her hand right through it. After a minute, the man who must be Ralph of the Fix-It fame came to the door.

"Can I help you?" he aske, his voice tinged with disgruntled exhaustion.

Obviously, he'd been asleep when they had arrived.

"Hwue need thome help with our thip," Cultist-chan explained. "Ith not working right."

"Well, I'm Ralph, last name, Fix-It." He'd had his name legally changed. "Can you explain more about the problem?"

"Ith doesn'th work. Hokay, it _doeth_ work, but it might not work in the futhure."

Ralph rolled his eyes. A typical woman, with no head for mechanical engineering. He was already calculating how many credits he could bilk from her.

Ralph wasn't a bad man, but he didn't get a lot of business out in the sticks, and while he would certainly overcharge her he would never go so far as to actually sabotage anything in order to bring her back for an even more costly repair. He was in his mid-fifties, balding, and he carried a spare tire around in his belly as though he were afraid of getting a flat far from civilization. He was wearing stained jean overalls and a thin plaid shirt. He wore soda bottle glasses; he was far too humble to be able to afford the kind of surgeries or prostheses that might relieve him of his congenitally poor vision. Cultist-chan tugged on his sleeve, leading him towards the damaged Folkswagen.

"Go ahead and pull it into the garage on the right," Ralph instructed. "It will fly that far, right?"

Cultist-chan nodded, and Ralph helped Nurglebro pull the ship into the garage without getting a good look at the cultist's blistered, diseased face.

"The coolant line's fucked," Nurglebro explained to Ralph through the open gullwing door.

Ralph nodded. "Get those all the time. Make one wrong move taking off from a parking lot, scrape the undercarriage of your ship on a street light, and bam! Three thousand credits right out the window."

It was a profoundly unfortunate moment for Kay-oss to break free of Dranon's inattentive grasp. The three-headed beast jumped out of the open door, barking, and he knocked Cultist-chan to the ground in his enthusiasm to get outside the vehicle.

"What the Hell is that thing!?" Ralph shouted in terror.

There was a brief pause, and anything could have happened. Nurglebro was about to offer a Shakespearean excuse about the mysteries of Heaven and Earth, but Cultist-chan answered first.

"He ith Kay-oth!" she announced proudly. "He'th a thervant of KAY-OUS!"

Ralph took a few steps back, terrified. "Get away from me. Get out of here. I'll call the Guard on you!"

Cultist-chan pushed Kay-oss aside, picked herself up off the ground, and unlatched her septispike. She brandished it threateningly.

"Hwue claim thith repair thop for KAY-OUS!"

Ralph took another step backward, tripped over a stray screwdriver on the floor, and fell. Cultist-chan was in her most aggressive combat stance and she felt an irrational stab of panic at his sudden movement. Motivated by ill-directed terror, she threw her septispike at the man as hard as he could. It scythed through the air with a loud hum and embedded itself in his chest, and Ralph fell to the floor in a bloody pool. Unbeknownst to the Chaos devotees, nobody had thought to feed Kay-oss in days, and the animal leaped on top of the stricken man to take advantage of the very fancy feast. Ralph gurgled heart-rendingly.

An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice suddenly shrieked.

Cultist-chan turned to discover a little girl watching the gristly scene. She was wearing a pink nightgown, and she had a little pink bow in her soft brown hair. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, but in spite of being a mere child she rushed forward and started pounding on Kay-oss' thick hide as hard as she could with her little fists.

"Bad doggie!" the girl shouted through her tears. "Bad doggie, bad doggie! Stop! You're hurting him!"

Dranon and Nurglebro rushed out of the ship, appalled. Ralph's gurgling screams had quieted.

"What did you do, Cultist-chan!" Nurglebro demanded.

"Hwue… thorry."

The little girl kept wailing on Kay-oss, who turned to chuff at her with one of his heads, and then went back to tearing intestines out of her father's belly as a late night snack. Another head, temporarily sated, barked cheerfully at Cultist-chan.

Nurglebro rushed forward and took Ralph's pulse, with Kay-oss still chowing down on his insides.

"He's dead," the Nurgle cultist announced.

The girl started screaming even louder, and she collapsed to the floor in a tear-stricken heap. Cultist-chan hurried to her side.

"Thorry. I was showing him my thpike and then he tripped and fell and got hurt," Cultist-chan explained.

Then tried to cheer the child up. "Whouw old are you?"

The girl answered mechanically, "I'm six years old."

"Thee! There'th nothing to cry about. Hyou're a big girl now."

"My daddy's dead," the girl wailed. "Daddy, please wake up. Please!"

Kay-oss tore another big hunk out of Ralph's chest and sucked it down his gullet, eliciting another shriek from the suddenly orphaned child. Cultist-chan reached down and freed her septispike from the corpse.

"Thh, there'th nothing to worry about," lied Cultist-chan.  
The little girl put her hands on her hips. "I'm going to go call the Imperial Guard on you! They'll punish you for hurting my daddy!"

"Now, now, there's no need to be rash," stalled Nurglebro. "I'm sure we can… uh… work something out?"

The little girl turned around to run inside the house. Dranon leapt forward to stop her, putting a big, armored hand on her shoulder.

"No!" the child shrieked. "Leave me alone!"

"We can't let you go," Nurglebro reflected out loud. "You'll have to come with us."

"Never!" vowed the girl.

And that's when combat rounds were initiated. To Dranon's amazement, the girl picked up a comically oversized wrench and swung it against his armor. Unable to believe that a small child was actually attacking him, Dranon was caught completely off guard by the blow, and he fell backwards, sprawling into a large shelf full of half-used paint cans. The support strut holding up the shelf cracked and collapsed, dousing his helmet in a rainbow of paint and rendering him sensorless and blind.

"Mother of fuck!" the stricken Chaos Marine shouted.

The little girl made a run for it and bolted towards the door that led into the house. Cultist-chan was too fast for her and headed her off at the pass, sending the girl crashing into Nurglebro.

"Got you!" the male cultist announced gleefully. "That was close."

The little girl wasn't going to fall to the forces of Chaos so easily. She squirmed and writhed, she actually managed to break free of his grip. Dranon was still sprawled out on the floor, clawing at his helmet and trying to get the paint free of his cameras and sensors. Kay-oss, meanwhile, went back to eating; he was mostly full already, but there were still a few choice organs inviting him to prolong his stay in Flavor Country.

"Thtop!" Cultist-chan demanded, but the girl ignored her.

Nurglebro retrieved his small caliber bolter from the ship, and he pointed it uncertainly at the little girl. He wasn't sure if he was really prepared to shoot a small child. Meanwhile, the girl picked the giant wrench up off the floor, and menaced Cultist-chan with it.

"Go away!" the girl shrieked. "You are _very bad_ strangers!"

"Hwue are hyour friendth," Cultist-chan objected.

"And you talk really annoying!" the girl added.

Dranon, meanwhile, thrust his arms around haphazardly, trying to find a can of turpentine to free his faceplate of its coat of fresh paint. Taking it off was an option, of course, but he hadn't removed his helmet in decades and had no intention of changing that tradition now. He also didn't want to reveal his horrifyingly disfigured face to his comrades, even if Nurglebro wasn't sporting a visage which looked much better. In his flailing Dranon accidentally activated the garage door control. Nurglebro was concentrating so hard on keeping his aim steady on the little girl while she brawled with Cultist-chan that he didn't notice the door descending, and it hit him on the top of the head as it came down. Nurglebro went sprawling into the oil-stained concrete floor and he also inadvertently pulled the trigger of the bolter as he tried to break his fall. The bolter went off.

There was a painfully loud crack of gunfire, and then loud pings as the bolt bounced off several of the hangar's walls. Moving far too fast to see, the bolt hit a thick metal engine block, bounced off a joint holding up the ceiling, hit Dranon's armor but was too slowed to penetrate, and finally thundered right into Nurglebro's arm. The Nurgle cultist wasn't accustomed to pain, and he added his shriek of agony to the din.

"Go away!" the girl howled over the echoing gunfire.

"That really hurts," groaned Nurglebro, who was laying face first on the floor. "I think I'm dying. Oh Nurgle, as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no orthodoxy, for you are with me. You are my hepatitis and my AIDS…"

Cultist-chan swung her weapon at the little girl; wrench clanged against septispike. The awkward balance of Cultist-chan's weapon wasn't good at conveying force, and though the little girl stumbled backwards, she easily deflected Cultist-chan's blow. The both breathed heavily and glared at each other.

"Hwyou are a worthy oppothent," Cultist-chan told her with a little awe.

There was another loud crash as Dranon stumbled into Chaos-knew-what on the other side of the garage.

The little girl pressed forward to attack, and Cultist-chan backpedaled away from her. She charged Cultist-chan and swung the wrench with all her might. Cultist-chan raised her septispike to block the girl's swing, but she misjudged the distance, and the wrench cut through the space between two of the spikes and hit her in her soft, fleshy side.

It knocked the wind out of the Chaos Undivided worshipper, and Cultist-chan went down with a grunt.

There was another boom of gunfire; Nurglebro genuinely feared for Cultist-chan's life as the little girl loomed over her with her wrench held high over her head. Nurglebro didn't spend as much time at the range as a Khorne follower, and his shot went wide, striking a toolbox with a loud clang. Disoriented by the gunfire and empty inside, the little girl dropped her wrench and suddenly started crying. Seeing an opening, Cultist-chan swung her septispike, and there was a soft thud as the multi-pronged weapon entered soft, defenseless flesh. The little girl dropped to the ground in a bloody heap.

"Oh, gods!" Nurglebro shouted, even though he'd tried to shoot her moments before. "What have you done Cultist-chan?"

For her part, the soldier of Chaos freed her septispike from the girl's broken chest, drawing a spurt of blood from the wound. Little bits of flesh stuck to the spiked tips of the weapon. Dranon had finally scraped enough paint off his helm to take in the scene, and he looked on in horror. Nurgebro discovered that in spite of his panic the bolt had only glanced his arm, drawing a thick gash but no further harm, and he hurried over to triage the wounded girl. He pulled off her bloody nightgown, evaluated the wound, and shook his head.

"There's nothing I can do," he announced. "She'll be dead in a couple minutes. Her left lung is collapsed and filling with blood."

"Thee wath dangerouth," Cultist-chan said out loud, but she wasn't sure she was even convincing herself.

"Hey, Nurglebro," Dranon asked slowly. "Can't you like… do… something for her? It's fucked up that we just rolled in her and killed her dad like that."

"What do you mean?" Nurglebro asked cautiously.

"Well she's not quite dead yet, right? Doesn't Nurgle like, have something for this?"

Nurglebro closed his eyes and thought about it while the wounded girl coughed up thick gobs of blood.

"Mayyybe," he finally admitted. "The results might not be pretty, though."

"It'll be prettier than her dying, at least," Dranon countered.

Nurglebro turned to Cultist-chan, who was busy shooing Kay-oss away from the stricken girl's dying body.

"What do you think Cultist-chan?"

"Huwe'd lovth a new friend to join us on our road trip," the girl answered reflectively. "Maybe hwue feel a little guilthy, too."

Nurglebro leaned down over the girl, and then turned and looked up at his two companions.

"Can you give me a few minutes? I won't be able to concentrate with the pair of you looming over me the entire time."

Nurglebro grabbed a handful of blood dripping down his arm, and shoved it into the girl's sucking chest wound, eliciting a broken, gurgling gasp from the child. Dranon and Cultist-chan respectfully left the garage and stood around in Fix-It Ralph's kitchen, shifting uncomfortably.

"That was pretty fucked up," Dranon started.

"Thith ith a good thing for her," Cultist-chan replied. "Thee can thart a new life ath a proud thervant of KAY-OUS!"

"_If_ she survives."

Cultist-chan opened Ralph's fridge, and was heartened to discover a generous collection of locally microbrewed beers. It wasn't her beloved PBR, but it was still enough to take some of the stress off, and she was still high off of the adrenaline of combat. Even if her opponent _had_ been a virtually-helpless little girl. She consumed two as fast as she could gulp them down, while Dranon stared guiltily at his feet. After an intolerable wait, Nurglebro finally stood at the doorframe.

"Don't be _too_ alarmed," he warned the pair. "The results might not be pretty, but at least she's alive."

He stood aside to let the little girl join them in the kitchen. In some ways, she looked much the same as before. Nurglebro had dressed her again in her blood-stained and torn nightgown. There was still a little pink bow in her glossy hair. In fact, other than her broken, soulless eyes, you could hardly tell that she'd changed at all. Cultist-chan rushed forward and gave the girl a hug.

"Hwue're thorry," she said. "Hwue got caugth up in the heath of the moment."

The girl didn't speak for a minute.

"I'm… hungry," she finally said.

Cultist-chan reached up into the cabinets for a box of crackers, and handed it to the girl. She dropped it on the floor disinterestedly.

"Not for that. I'm hungry for something… new."

"She'll get like that sometimes," Nurglebro said. "Why don't you follow me, sweetie? What's your name?"

"I don't remember. I remember a big bright light, and there was the Emperor, smiling at me and taking me into his arms. He told me I was a good little girl and that he was proud to have me as a daughter. But then there was a strong tug, and the Emperor seemed angry and told me to fight it but I was scared and tried to run away. Then there was a very nice man wearing a suit who gave me a hug and told me he wanted me to be his friend. He was a little stinky, but he gave me a lollipop, so I followed him. Then the tug got stronger and stronger and I woke up here. But I don't remember… anything before that."

"Let'th call her Zofia," Cultist-chan said, nodding in satisfaction.

Zofia obediently followed Nurglebro back into the garage, and Cultist-chan joined them curiously. Driven by instinct, Zofia got down on her hands and knees and started chewing on the corpse of her father alongside the three heads of Kay-oss, who welcomed her uneasily.

"What is she?" Dranon asked.

"Well, she's, uh, basically, you know, like…" Nurglebro hesitated. "A zombie."

Dranon was aghast. "A zombie!"

"It's not all bad!" Nurglebro said defensively. "At least she's not dead! And she's not one of those mindless zombies you see in the holovids – she's sort-of living and thinking just like us. Okay, she might not exactly have a soul anymore, but some of my best friends are zombies and I won't have you speak a word against them!"

Dranon and Cultist-chan digested this new information. Zofia digested chunks of Fix-It Ralph's kidney.

Nurglebro continued, "Besides, I'm sure Nurgle will look after her. He helped me perform the ritual successfully."

"Thee can be a new member of hour family!" Cultist-chan announced excitedly.

Zofia picked herself up off the floor and brushed down the bloody front of her nightgown.

"All done!" she announced proudly.

"At least go give her a bath and get her dressed in something a little less… bloody," Dranon demanded with a groan.

Cultist-chan led the little girl to the house's small bathroom, while Nurglebro got good and drunk in the kitchen.

"That girl is sick," Dranon opined.

"Which one?" asked Nurglebro.

"Both of them!"

"Well, I did everything I could. Besides, that's one new heart that won't spend her life getting indoctrinated by the Imperium. We'd better take her with us when we go. The people on this planet would burn her with fire if they discovered her."

"Great, just what I always wanted," Dranon replied sarcastically. "A daughter."

"We can't just leave her here. Nurgle would be furious."

"Oh, well. At least it'll give Cultist-chan someone at her own intellectual level to play with."

After a few minutes, Cultist-chan returned with Zofia in tow. The woman must have torn up half the clothes in Zofia's room, because the little girl was now attired like Cultist-chan herself. A little black peacoat had been mutilated to fashion a makeshift brassiere, and a black Sunday School dress was torn into ribbons, covering most of her underside. Nurglebro noted, not without dismay, that her could see both of the girls' panties; Cultist-chan was wearing pink, while Zofia had a pair of white panties with a big smiling teddy bear on the front. At least she was finally clean. As a bonus, the girl was wearing a fresh pink ribbon on her head.

"Cultist-chan, you're a monster," Dranon said, wishing, and not for the first time that night, that his Space Marine metabolism would allow him to get completely shithammered.

Nurglebro unceremoniously fell off his chair and Zofia giggled.

"You guys are funny." She let out a big yawn. "I'm sleepy, though. I want to have a nice, long nap."

"Maybe it ith time to thurn in," Cultist-chan remarked.

Dranon sighed. "Go on. This day has been long enough for all of us."

Cultist-chan and Zofia slept in her bed, while Dranon lay down on the late Ralph's. As for Nurglebro, they left him to snore drunkenly on the kitchen floor. The four servants of Chaos were completely tuckered out and got a sold night's rest. Zofia fell asleep holding the half-eaten lollipop that the stinky man had given to her.

* * *

Stay tuned for the next chapter, **Cultist-chan v. Some Rather Upset Marines**

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	4. Cultist-chan v Some Rather Upset Marines

[Author:] I can't believe there's still anyone reading this after the last chapter in which our villain protagonists killed a father in front of his little girl, fed his body to their dog while she watched, killed her, brought her back as a zombie, _and then fed her parts of her father's body_. I think it really says something about you as a person that you've made it this far. It says that you're a _terrible_ person. Well, at any rate, we may as well see this through to the end, so without further ado, here's…

**Cultist-chan v. Some Rather Upset Marines**

"**Dick sprinkles!**"

Nurglebro awoke to the sound of shouting and immediately regretted it. His head felt like an Ork holiday where everyone had forgotten to bring the actual booze.

"**Bumder choad!**"

Nurglebro groaned, dry heaved, and then finally blew chunks all over the kitchen floor.

"What in Nurgle's name is that fucking racket?" he gurgled when he was finally done upchucking on the linoleum tile.

Cultist-chan came into the kitchen, hurrying Zofia ahead of her.

"Hwath all that noith?" she asked with evident concern.

Nurglebro swallowed a stray chunk of vomit, and looked up to spy a pair of binoculars hanging by a hook on the kitchen wall. "Cultist-chan, go wake up Dranon. I think we might be in trouble."

"**Turd guzzling Ork humper!**" added an unknown voice at ear-cracking volume.

Cultist-chan hurried off to rouse Dranon, Zofia in tow. Nurglebro shook his head. Being an agent of Chaos meant never having to say you're sorry, but somehow, he still felt guilty over what they'd done to the little girl. He hefted the binoculars and peered out through them towards the source of the profane racket.

"Got anything?" Dranon asked, materializing at his shoulder.

Nurglebro struggled to see through the dust cloud kicked up by the advance of whatever-it-was. Then, he saw a few flashes of yellow, and realized what he was looking at.

"Oh, shit," he breathed out loud.

Dranon's sensors were still screwy from the paint, but he looked out towards the eastern horizon, desperately trying to see through the muddle.

"What is it?" Dranon demanded.

"Space Marines. And they seem kinda…" Nurglebro paused, searching for the right word. "Angry."

"**Dicking barf cock!**"

Nurglebro continued, "Huh, I've never seen that color scheme before. Their armor is painted yellow and their insignia is a frowning face on a red field…"

"Oh fuck," Dranon breathed. "Oh mother of fuck."

"What is it?"

"**Salmon screwing piecemeal donkey punch!**"

Dranon answered over the growing din, "It's the _Angry Marines_."

"Hwho are they?" Cultist-chan asked.

"They're _angry_."

There was an uncomfortable pause as the five Chaos worshippers considered the implications of their situation.

Nurglebro shifted nervously on his feet. "What are we going to do? We won't get far on foot, and our ship's Warp drive is still out of commission. And they are _definitely_ still coming this way."

The unit was now visible even to the unaided eye. There were thirty yellow-liveried Space Marines all running as hard as they could, with a lone Commissar screaming profanities as he drove them on. Occasionally, a Marine would flag in his efforts to outpace the howling Commissar, and the man, visibly red with rage even from this distance, would punch that Marine square in the face of his helmet with an unarmored fist. It must have hurt like Hell but the Commissar didn't even flinch. Dranon started to hyperventilate, and even Cultist-chan, who was normally too stupid to feel anything like fear, started to quail before the volume of their collective rage.

"**I said ****_run_****, you monkey-fucking brainless gobshites**," the Commissar bellowed at the top of his lungs.

One of the Angry Marines yelled in response, "**We're running as fast as we can, Fuklaw!**"

If anything, Commissar Fuklaw got even angrier.

"**Who said that!? Who in the fucking shit fucking dared to speak to me!? I swear to the Emperor I'll tear out your intestines with my cock. I will kill you! I will kill every last one of you!**"

"Um," Nurglebro whispered, awed by the terrifying charisma of the furious commissar. "They are still headed this way. We should go… somewhere else."

Meanwhile, Commissar Fuklaw had elected to punish the first Angry Marine he could catch for the backtalk. With one kick to the back of the armored Marine's knees, the Commissar sent his unfortunate victim sprawling face-first into the desert sand. In a flash the Commissar was on top of him. Before the Marine could try to protect his face, Fuklaw tore the Marine's helmet straight off his head and started pummeling him in the face with his own armor. Fuklaw howled with rage. He rained blow after blow down on the hapless Angry Marine, breaking bones and knocking teeth down his throat.

"**Who's next!?**" Fuklaw screamed, looking around wildly for his next victim. "**Who's the next wiseacre who thinks he can talk back to me?**"

"Um," Zofia said, tugging on Cultist-chan's skirt. "I know a place where we can hide. Those guys sound scary."

Nurglebro bent down to look the little girl in the eyes. "You do? Now would be a _really_ good time."

Fuklaw roared out loud like a lion, and Zofia led the Chaos invasion forces to a carefully-concealed trap door under the kitchen table. The little girl tugged it open and urged the other members inside. Nurglebro and Dranon went first, followed by Cultist-chan dragging an unwilling Kay-oss behind her. Finally, Zofia scampered down, shutting the trap door above them. A little bit of light filtered down through spaces between the slats of the wood floor and illuminated a surprising scene. Ralph must have been some kind of desert-survivalist type, because there was a collection of weaponry stashed in the basement that would have made even a Space Marine giddy with joy. There were bolters, heavy bolters, stalker bolters, a melta gun, and even a partially-assembled Flamestorm Cannon lurking in one corner. Fuklaw was still screaming and hadn't taken a breath in a full minute.

"Do you think we can… fight them?" Nurglebro asked hesitatingly.

Five life-forms, seven faces, and fourteen eyes looked at one another searchingly. All in all they were a rather motley bunch. While Dranon was a fully armed and armored Chaos Marine, his sensors were still underperforming, and he had to admit if only to himself that he hadn't exactly covered himself with glory the night before when faced with the unparalleled might of a small child. As for Kay-oss, the animal was busy licking his own balls, and while he might be a formidable force against a single Space Marine there were still thirty of them well on their way to Fix-It Ralph's garage. Cultist-chan was all but useless in combat, and Dranon had his doubts about Zofia, as well. The blunt truth was that they didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell against a battalion of pissed-off Angry Marines.

"We hide," Dranon finally ordered, scalded by the admission of defeat.

"Thoundth good to uth," Cultist-chan announced.

"Keep that fucking … thing, of yours quiet, Cultist-chan," Dranon demanded. "If he starts barking, we're all fucked."

Just in case, Dranon sauntered over to the Flamestorm Cannon, but it was no use. While the casing was largely intact, it was missing several vital breakers that would keep it from exploding the second it was engaged, and anyway, there was no fuel for the weapon anywhere in sight. The sound of screaming from up above grew louder.

"**Take two, you fucking assholes**," the Commissar announced.

To the collective amazement of the Chaos forces, there was a disarming quiet. Then, the five heard a gentle knock on the front door above them. Hearing no response, the Commissar knocked again, louder this time. The five held their tongues.

"**Excuse me, fine Imperial citizen**," the Commissar said in something almost but not quite approximating normal human speech. "**We would be much obliged if you came to the door. There is nothing to fear from us.**"

"**Hey, boss,**" called out one of the Marines. "**The garage door is open.**"

The Commissar turned to glare, and then discovered that in spite of the Marine's insubordination, he was right. "**Okay you shit-knocking puke tyrants. Go investigate.**"

"**There's totally a fucking dead guy in here, sir**," another Marine shouted in response.

The Commissar thundered over to where Ralph's mutilated corpse lay in a bloody heap on the floor of the garage, attracting flies.

"**Well ain't that some fucked up shit. What the cunting fuck happened here?**" the Commissar demanded.

"**Could be bears, sir.**"

"**Bears? Fucking bears?**" The Commissar was incensed. "**Who the fuck ever heard of a fucking bear in the middle a fucking desert? Are you mentally defective or something? Bears eat berries and salmon, you retard.**"

"**What about a puma?**" the Marine suggested hesitantly.

"**A puma.**" The Commissar considered this. "**I think pumas are desert shit kickers. Spread out, you faggots, I want you to search the property thoroughly just in case. In the meantime, I will prepare a proper funeral for this fine citizen. I want you all assembled with clean armor and respectful demeanor in thirty fucking minutes, do you understand me? Do you fucking shitheads understand my words!?**"

"**Yes, sir**," the Marines replied in unison.

The five Chaos worshippers barely dared to breathe as the Angry Marines ransacked the house above. They searched everywhere for the rogue puma, including Ralph's fridge, underwear drawer, and inside the urn that held his mother's ashes. Cultist-chan whispered soothing nothings in Kay-oss' ear; he was bored, and if his self-control slipped up, they'd certainly be found out. It was everything Cultist-chan could do to keep the beast quiet. There was a loud crash from above. Apparently the Angry Marine didn't find the puma in the urn, and so he'd just tossed it over his shoulder without showing any further interest. A little bit of the ash fell between the wooden slats and showered onto Zofia's formerly clean hair. For the next twenty minutes, the Angry Marine tore the place apart, going so far as to smash several of the walls in their furious enthusiasm for the task at hand. The last ten minutes were spent muttering respectful curses by the Emperor as they purified themselves in an effort to give the deceased a dignified burial. Finally it was time.

Commissar Fuklaw led the ceremony. "**We are gathered here today because some fucking dude got ganked.**"

"**Amen**," added some of the Marines.

"**Shit like that fucking sucks, but it happens all the time. As we gank others, so also we sometimes find ourselves ganked. The universe is full of many hazards such as Chaos Marines, Chaos cultists, Nurgle worshipping dick smears, weird-ass motherfucking Chaos animals, and even fucked up little girl zombies.**"

"**Hear, hear.**"

"**Don't forget pumas, sir**," suggested another Marine.

"**That's right, and fucking pumas! And you know what I say?**"

"**What do you say?**"

The place was starting to sound like a liberation theology church.

"**I say fuck that shit!**" Fuklaw screamed triumphantly. "**I say fuck that shit right in its motherfucking dick hole. From everything I've seen today, this man was a fine citizen of the Imperium, who probably only beat his daughter when she had it coming, and he deserved better than to be left in a pool of his own blood by some bastardfuck puma. It's time for us to stop taking shit, men.**"

"**Ain't nobody got time for that!**"

The Commissar went on, "**It's time for us to teabag evil. It's time for us to whip out our genitals and slap evil across the face with our wangs.**"

"**But sir, you –**"

"**Shut the fuck up, goddamnit! I'm eulogizing!**" Fuklaw howled. "**Where the fuck was I? Oh right. Let's consider our Lord and Savior, the God-Emperor of Mankind. Did he not fucking say, I am the bread of life? Didn't he fucking say that? You're goddamn right he did. And he went on to say, eat chunks of my body and you won't be hungry and whoever believes in me won't be thirsty. Do you know what that means?**"

There were cries of "**Yes!**" and "**No!**"

"**It means fuck you, that's what it fucking means! Now. I have composed a short poem for the deceased.**"

Commissar Fuklaw cleared his throat, and the Angry Marines settled in for a long wait.

"**Amazing grace, how fucking sweet the sound,**

**that saved a wretch like me from getting ganked like this dude.**

**One time our astropath died and we didn't know where the fuck we were but then we figured it out,**

**and another time a tyranid spit acid in my eyes but there's some smart cunts in the Adeptus Hospitalier and they fixed my shit right up.**

**Amen!**"

"**Amen**," the rest of the Angry Marines echoed in unison.

Then Commissar Fuklaw shouted, "**Pull!**"

An Angry Marine heaved Ralph's mutilated corpse into the air as hard as he could, and Fuklaw took careful aim with a Meltagun. When the body hit its apogee, Fuklaw fired, instantly incinerating it and leaving nothing but a few stray bits of ash and vapor. Satisfied, he tipped his hat to the deceased, and then turned back to the assembly of Angry Marines who were already starting to murmur amongst themselves.

"**Alright you faggots, it's time to get back to fucking work. Run!**"

Instantly, the Angry Marines were back on their feet, fleeing from the Commissar. Being caught could mean anything from a beating, to a maiming, to an outright bloody murder, and they ran as though all the hounds of Chaos were nipping at their heels. Back in the basement, the five breathed a sigh of relief as the Angry Marines put distance between themselves and the garage. Kay-oss finally let out a loud bark but the fleeing warriors didn't even pause in their flat-out run.

"That was entirely fucked up," Nurglebro remarked.

"Har they alwayth liek that?" Cultist-chan asked.

Dranon nodded. "They're one of the most dysfunctional chapters in the entire Imperium. But also one of the most fucked-up dangerous ones. We're lucky they didn't think to look under the floorboards; they would have eaten us alive and spit out the bones afterwards if they'd caught us."

Zofia ran her finger along the ashes covering her cheek and put the ancient debris in her mouth curiously.

"Stale," she remarked.

Cautiously, the five clambered out of their hiding place and evaluated the situation. The Angry Marines had torn through Fix-It Ralph's like a hurricane, and there was hardly a single thing still in its proper place. The door to the fridge had been entirely torn off its hinges, and there was one lone, sad beer bottle still intact, surrounded by broken glass and rapidly warming beer. They'd smashed light bulbs, broken pipes, and knocked down walls in their misdirected effort to find the rogue puma, and to Zofia's relief her dim recollections of her short life in the house were now almost entirely evaporated.

"What now?" Dranon asked hestitantly.

"I guess it's time to repair our ship," Nurglebro answered. "Hopefully they left _something_ intact in the garage."

By some inexplicable miracle, the Folkswagen had been left almost untouched, and Nurglebro immediately got to work on repairing the damaged coolant line. He told the others that it was going to be at least a day, so they occupied themselves for a listless afternoon. Dranon spent his time buffing and polishing his scuffed armor. Cultist-chan and Zofia played fetch with Kay-oss, filling the garage with echoes of his excited barks. The electricity had been knocked out by the Angry Marine assault so they played war games with tiny miniatures by candlelight late into the night before taking a long, restful sleep in the broken beds.

"Okay, it's done," Nurglebro announced around fourteen hundred hours the next afternoon.

Cultist-chan and Zofia had taken another bath, and they were almost, maybe, something resembling clean. They'd also thoroughly hosed down Kay-oss, and he smelled like warm, musty animal in the light of the hot desert sun. Nurglebro yawned and cracked his knuckles; it hadn't been easy assembling a more resilient coolant bypass from the materials Ralph had on hand in the shop, but he was confident that his repair would hold. And honestly, he'd had just about enough of their road trip anyway.

"I think it's time to go home," Nurglebro said aloud.

"Hwat about my groxthburgerth?!" Cultist-chan demanded.

Dranon scoffed, "We almost got caught by Angry Marines! Who gives a damn about your groxburgers?"

"But thath wath the whole pointh of the triph! Huwe've been wanting to eat a groxthburger for yearth! We're tho close, huwe can't give up now! It would be…. It would be an inthult to KAY-OUS!"

Nurglebro and Dranon exchanged a glance, while Zofia rode Kay-oss like a horse across the sand.

"We can get groxburgers anywhere, Cultist-chan," Nurglebro said placatingly.

"No! It _hath_ to be BolognaTown! The godth have help take uth thith far, right? Whow do you think they hwould feel if huwe failth them now!?"

Nurglebro considered Cultist-chan's words more carefully than he really wanted to credit. It was true – their uncanny luck had held time and time again, in spite of all the things that could have gone dreadfully wrong. If the Chaos gods, for whatever mad and chaotic reason, really wanted to ensure that they completed the stated purpose of their road trip, it wouldn't be beneficial for their health to disappoint them.

"Dranon?" Nurglebro finally asked as Zofia and Kay-oss bounded up together.

"Fuck. What do I care?" the Chaos Marine muttered. "It's not like we almost got killed or anything."

Nurglebro turned to their newest companion. "Zofia, do you want to get a BolognaTown groxburger?"

"That sounds tasty," the girl answered disinterestedly. "Are groxburgers people?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. But I'm sure we'll have another chance to get you people food soon. What about you, Kay-oss?"

The beast barked enthusiastically, which Nurglebro had to take as a yes.

"Okay," he warned, "but this is going to be the last stop. We're going to get a BolognaTown groxburger and go straight home. Are we all agreed?"

"Yeth, Nurglebro."

"Where can we find a BolognaTown, anyway?" Dranon asked, trying to bite down his sarcasm.

Nurglebro grabbed the handheld display for their navicomp and scrolled through all of the businesses available on Yosemite Prime.

"We're in luck! There's one BolognaTown on this planet, in a town a couple hundred miles from here," Nurglebro enthused. "Okay, we're almost there!"

Everyone loaded into the Folkswagen, talking and joking and trading cheerful stories. They were all secretly – or not so secretly – relieved that their journey was almost over. Nurglebro eased the _Ebola Borealis_ out of the garage. He was glad to see that the engine temperature was down to normal, and that all systems once again checked out as nominal. It was a pity he didn't have a chance to hack a VID transponder, but their luck only had to hold out for a little while longer and then they'd be home free.

"Wow!" Zofia said, audibily amazed. "I've never been on a spaceship before. Everything looks like ants down there!"

"Maybe it _ith_ anths," Cultist-chan whispered to her conspiratorially, and both the girls giggled.

Novus Mariposa turned out to be a cow town of only a few thousand people nestled in the hills of a forest covered with tall, blue needled trees. A few people glanced up at the spaceship, bored, and Nurglebro took them into the drive-thru of the BolognaTown without incident. He was a little alarmed to see that the parking lot for the town's single fast food restaurant was empty, and furthermore, there were no lights visible in the restaurant's interior. Nevertheless, he eased the craft into the section of airspace in front of an unlit menu and waited for the tone to start giving their order. Nothing happened for a minute.

"Um, excuse me?" Nurglebro shouted through the open gullwing door.

There was still no query from the drive thru's speaker box.

"Hello?" Nurglebro demanded.

No one answered.

"Cultist-chan, go see what's going on," Dranon demanded.

Cultist-chan climbed out of the vehicle and tried to pull one of the darkened building's doors open, to no avail. She tugged on it, knocked on it, and then pounded on it, but there was still no answer from inside. Nurglebro was eventually forced to pull her away before they made too much of a scene and attracted unwanted attention from the locals. He spied a sign full of officialese, and his heart sank down to his ankles.

"Fuck!" he announced to no one in particular.

He dragged Cultist-chan back aboard the Folkswagen and shut the gullwing door behind them.

"What's going on?" Dranon demanded.

"They're fucking closed!" Nurglebro seethed. "Closed by the order of the Yosemite Prime Department of Health."

"That's bullshit!"

"You're telling me."

"I wanthed a groxthburger," Cultist-chan whined.

Dranon and Nurglebro shouted in unison, "Shut up!"

"This is all your fault!"

"Fuck you and the grox you rode in on, asshole."

"Hwue are thill hungry…"

"Shut _up_!"

Suddenly, Zofia's black, lifeless eyes started growing red. Everyone immediately shut up and turned to face the little girl who was clearly possessed by some great power of the Warp.

"I hate to interrupt, darlings," the girl said in a strangely familiar voice that was not her own. "There's no need to fight. You'll have an opportunity to get some groxburgers yet. If I were you, I'd enter low orbit, wait for a ship called the _Burger King_ to float by, and follow it through the Warp to its destination. That's just if I were you, mind."

Zofia's eyes dulled back to black, and the five Chaos worshippers searched each others' faces.

"What do we do?" Nurglebro finally asked.

"Thee theemed familiar thomehow…" Cultist-chan announced reflectively.

"Well, we can't exactly say no, can we?" interjected Dranon.  
"Okay. I'll follow her instructions."

Zofia just yawned.

Traffic control queried them, but there'd been a major accident in Yosemite Prime's upper atmosphere, and they were too harried to send a second request when Nurglebro simply ignored the first. The _Ebola Borealis_ entered orbit without any problems, Nurglebro was pleased to note that the engine continued to hold its normal temperature. The five waited, waited, and waited some more. After twelve hours of nothing, Nurglebro was starting to loudly doubt they'd ever encounter the vessel, when the ship's primary computer started flashing an emergency proximity warning.

"What?" demanded Dranon.

All the blood drained out of Nurglebro's face. "It's… it's the goddamn Angry Marines!"

A heavily-modified, ludicrously armed and armored drop ship rocketed towards them at speeds well in excess of the orbital speed limit. The vessel was painted a lurid shade of bile yellow, and it was covered in graffiti that helpfully explained in graphic detail that any passersby could fuck themselves and exactly how the ship's occupants had become related to the person reading the inscriptions on the hull.

"Holy shit!" Nurglebro screamed.

The Angry Marine vessel came within meters of the _Ebola Borealis_ before continuing on into deep space. The _Borealis' _comm crackled.

"**Go fuck yourself you fucking shithawks!**" screamed the Angry Marine pilot. "**Get out of orbit, fucking Sunday drivers…**"

Shaken by the chance encounter, the five looked at one another. Cultist-chan had wet herself in terror and the cabin of the vessel smelled faintly like urine.

"There it is," Nurglebro said with a tinge of awe. "_Burger King_."

_Burger King _was a sleek, modern, thoroughly equipped luxury yacht; a typical rich kid's toy. The hull gleamed brightly in the starlight of the system's central sun. The five passengers of _Borealis_ watched as the other ship pulled around and charged its Warp drive capacitors. Nurglebro was surprised that the Chaos gods had come through for them yet again, but he wasn't going to look a gift grox in the mouth, so he prepared their own vessel for its jump into the Warp. _Burger King_ made the jump and _Borealis_ followed her, hiding in the yacht's Warp wake.

* * *

Stay tuned for the next chapter, **Cultist-chan v BolognaTownFranchises Inc**

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	5. Cultist-chan v BolognaTownFranchises Inc

**Cultist-chan v. BolognaTownFranchises, Inc.**

Hiding in the Warp wake of _Burger King_ was an exhausting endeavor, and Nurglebro struggled to keep his tired eyes on the path ahead of him. Cultist-chan was in the back, blissfully sleeping against a napping Kay-oss, with one arm draped across the snoring Zofia. Dranon was quiet. He stared out of the window at the undulating Chaos of the Warp, too tired and meditative to even get a headache from the fiercely swirling patterns. Nurglebro tried to keep himself awake by drumming quietly on the helm, fidgeting with his legs, and even pinching himself. It was a difficult slog.

The entire ship rumbled angrily and Nurglebro snapped awake. He'd taken an inadvertent microsleep, and the Folkswagen drifted into a choppy patch of turbulence on the edge of the _Burger King'_s wake. Cultist-chan stirred in her sleep but fortunately remained unconscious, and Nurglebro took a firm grip on the helm and steered them back closer to the center of the other ship's wake. Zofia woke up and pattered over to him. She peered over his shoulders at the ship's controls.

"How many more lightyears?" she asked.

Nurglebro groaned. "I have no idea. We're just going to keep following the ship ahead of us until it stops somewhere, I guess."

"What does that button do?"

Zofia pointed at a big red button hidden behind a molly guard. Nurglebro was relieved that by some occult magic, the little girl wasn't degenerating into a full, stinky zombie; indeed, she could still be mistaken for a normal human apart from her black irises and strangely empty eyes.

"That's an emergency cabin depressurization button. Please, please, please, please don't touch it. It's only for use in certain emergencies and if you touch it, you will definitely make everyone very sad."

"Okay," the girl answered obediently, without a mischievous undertone that would've made Nurglebro distinctly nervous. "What about that lever there?"

Nurglebro explained, "That controls the firing of the RCS thrusters. You set the trajectory you want to follow on the navball, here, and then the computer automatically controls the firing of the miniature thrusters to push you in the right direction. They're usually only used when precision is important; for things like docking or setting the ship down on a low-gravity body."

"You're funny. Flying sounds really complicated, how did you learn how to do it?" Zofia asked.

"From video games, to tell you the truth," Nurglebro admitted. "Some flight simulators can be so realistic you almost can tell the difference with the real thing."

Cultist-chan yawned, scratched her tummy, and rolled over.

"Will I ever grow up?" Zofia suddenly asked.

Nurglebro blinked.

"I honestly don't know," he told her. "But here's something I _can_ promise you – Papa Nurgle has something special planned for you."

"The stinky guy?"

Nurglebro laughed. "Yeah, the stinky guy."

Zofia got up and wandered back to where Cultist-chan was sleeping. The _Ebola Borealis_ was now 20 hours out of Yosemite Prime, and Nurglebro went back to concentrating on the Warp wake in front of him. Seconds, minutes, and hours ticked by at an interminable pace. After an inestimable amount of time, the _Burger King_ suddenly flashed out of the Warp. Nurglebro quickly hit the emergency Warp cutoff, and then they were in real space, high above an inhabited Imperium world. Nurglebro reached up to fiddle with the navicomputer to try to get a reading on where they were, but while he was punching instructions into the device's finicky touchscreen he ended up ploughing right into the stern of the _Burger King_.

"Fuck!" Nurglebro shouted furiously.

Cultist-chan was jostled awake by the impact and she let out a characteristic scream, and even Dranon was shaken by the sudden impact. Kay-oss barked loudly as Nurglebro desperately tried to get _Ebola Borealis_ back under control. Half of the ship's status icons flipped from green to red. There was a loud hiss coming from somewhere; once again, they'd managed to breach the cabin in an accident, and the ship's air supply was slowly leaking out into space. The comm crackled – _Burger King _was hailing them. Nurglebro sighed and prepared to face the music.

"You'd better have some damned good insurance, buddy," an angry voice sputtered over the open channel. "This ship cost more than you make in a decade."

"Hey, fuck you!" Nurglebro retorted furiously. "Maybe if your left blinker hadn't been on I would have seen you slow down."

"You better watch your mouth, punk."

A new voice from _Burger King_ cut in. "Sorry sir, please allow me to handle this. Uh, excuse me, unidentified ship; please follow me down to the surface so we can exchange insurance information."

"Yeah, okay."

Naturally, Nurglebro had no insurance, but without any better plan in mind he maneuvered _Ebola Borealis_ around to follow the other ship down to the surface. Cultist-chan, Dranon, Zofia, and Kay-oss peered over his shoulder and offered unhelpful advice and cheerful barks, respectively. The _Borealis_ wasn't badly damaged, but the leak in the hull would have to be patched and the coolant system was once again knocked offline by the impact. There'd be no escaping into the Warp until the radiator was fixed. Meanwhile, the navicomp finally had a location for them – the planet Hermetica, in Segmentum Solar. Nurglebro rolled his eyes at the Chaos gods' ongoing wisdom.

_Burger King_ led them down towards the surface, and space traffic control bought Nurglebro's excuse that the collision had knocked his VID transponder offline. The pair of ships settled into one of the three-dimensional highways that criss-crossed the planet's airspace, and within a half hour _Burger King_ was directing them to land beside it on top of a sleek, modern skyscraper that towered over most of the nearby buildings. Nurglebro fidgeted nervously. They were a Chaos Undivided Cultist, a Chaos Marine, a Nurgle worshipper, a weird animal thing, and a little girl who was also a zombie – as such, they were unlikely to be particularly welcome when they were discovered on the Imperial Hive World.

"I'll go first," he hissed to his companions. "Try hiding down low, or something. Don't come out unless I call for you."  
Nurglebro pushed open the gullwing door and tried to pull his black cowl further over his face. Disfigurement by plague was common in the Imperium; maybe he could get away with pretending to be an interplanetary merchant or courier. A red-carpeted ramp slowly lowered from _Burger King_, and an angry man in a suit with slicked-back hair strode out to confront Nurglebro. He was quickly followed by a chauffer in a tuxedo.

"Now see here! My name is Marcus Iulius, and I'm the CEO of a major interplanetary restaurant chain so I don't have a lot of time to deal with you. I just got back from a camping trip and I have a thousand emails waiting for my attention."

"Sir, please calm down," his chauffer advised, putting a hand on his boss' shoulder. "You know your doctor told you to watch your blood pressure."

Marcus muttered something under his breath, and then said, "Can you deal with this, Tarquin?"

The chauffer nodded. "Of course, sir. Please proceed to your office."

Marcus gratefully strode off into the building. His penthouse was like a luxury suburban mansion on the same floor as the landing platform, and there was even a broad lawn and patio overlooking the buildings below. Tarquin turned to Nurglebro with a stern look in his eyes.

"You _do_ have insurance, of course?" the man prompted.

"Well, you see, I did, but, um, well, that is to say," Nurglebro stammered.

"I can't believe it!" Tarquin rounded _Burger King_ to survey the damage. "That's at least ten thousand credits to get the fender fixed and repainted. How can you fly without insurance? You know that's illegal, right? Do you _have_ ten thousand credits?"

"Look, if your boss is wealthy enough to afford this skyscraper and ship and interplanetary conglomerate, he certainly must be rich enough to repair a broken fender, right?" Nurglebro objected.

Tarquin countered, "It's the principle of the thing! It's illegal to fly without insurance and you did it anyway. If you don't have any way of compensating Mr. Iulius for his loss, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call the Adeptus Arbites to deal with the situation."

"No, don't do that!" Nurglebro exclaimed, raising his hands and taking a step backward. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

Tarquin rolled his eyes. "And what exactly would you have that would adequately make Mr. Iulius whole?"

That was a tough one. Instead of answering, Nurglebro panicked. The Chaos cultist stuck his gangrenous fingers in his mouth and whistled as loudly as he could.

Kay-oss immediately bounded out of the Folkswagen, followed quickly by the other four. Tarquin started hollering something, and Kay-oss jumped up and knocked Nurglebro to the ground, licking his mutilated face. Meanwhile, Dranon grabbed Tarquin by the throat, ran over to the edge of the building, and unceremoniously hurled the man over the side to his death. The five could hear his scream echoing off the canyons of building as he fell. The assembled soldiers of Chaos looked at one another uncertainly.

"Now huwat?" Cultist-chan asked.

"Let's steal _Burger King _and get the fuck out of here," Dranon suggested.

Nurglebro shook his head angrily. "And leave my ship behind!?"

"It beats dying, doesn't it?"

Nurglebro sighed. "We'll need Marcus' authorization code."

"So let's go get it," Dranon answered darkly.

The crack team of Chaos troopers marched up to the penthouse office. Without pausing to knock, Dranon simply battered the door down with his helmeted skull, eliciting and immediate shriek. There was the secretary behind a mahogany desk, and she was shaking with terror when confronted with the advance of the Chaos forces. She was still trying to button her rose-colored blouse when Cultist-chan spied a photograph of a groxburger above her desk.

"Huwhere are they!?" Cultist-chan demanded.

"Where are what?" asked the terrified young woman.

"The groxthburgers! Hwue came halfway acroth the galacthy and hwue aren'th leaving withouth a groxthburger!" Cultist-chan's eyes flashed with rage.

The foyer suddenly smelled like urine; the secretary must have pissed herself with terror.

"Cultist-chan, forget about the fucking groxburgers!" Dranon howled. "Let's just get the authorization code and get out of here!"

"No! Huwee demand groxthburgerth!"

Dranon reached out and smashed the secretary face first into the desk, silencing her quiet whimpers. Nurglebro, a recent recipient of similar treatment from the hulking Space Marine, winced in sympathy. The secretary fell into a dreamless, concussed slumber, and the Chaos forces advanced into the next room.

There was a long hallway behind the doors that flanked the secretary's desk, and the group walked down the corridor and stopped at the last, seemingly most important room in the penthouse. Dranon politely knocked, and then without waiting for a reply kicked the doors open only to discover a board meeting in progress. They'd heard the commotion down the hall, and the meeting had become a nervous discussion about what might be the source of all the racket. A holoprojector still displayed a giant pie chart midair over the center of the table and a stunned silence descended over the room. Before anyone else could say anything, Cultist-chan jumped onto the table, causing the pie chart to dance on her cleavage.

"Huwe claim all groxthburgerth in the name of KAY-OUS!" the crazed cultist shrieked.

Heedless of the growing shouts, she surged forward, grabbed Marcus by the lapels, picked him up and slammed him against the wall of the office.

"Huwhere are the fucking groxthburgerth?!" she demanded.

Meanwhile, Dranon waded into the meeting and started cracking heads, while Nurglebro guarded the door and tripped suited executives who were scrambling to escape. Dranon tore the arm clean off one of the panicked men and tossed it to Zofia, who gnawed on it greedily.

Cultist-chan slammed Marcus into the wall again. "Groxthburgerth!"

Marcus tried to put on a brave face, but there were silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

"This is the corporate headquarters," he stammered. "There aren't any groxburgers here, this is just a bunch of offices and cubicles. Maybe they serve groxburgers in the cafeteria, but I don't know; it's not like I ever eat there."

None of the other Chaos legionnaires had ever seen Cultist-chan so angry before. Her eyes were wild and she must have acquired lunatic strength from somewhere to be holding the CEO up by the lapels of his suit. With a grunt, Cultist-chan shifted her weight and threw Marcus face-first at an unbreakable transparasteel window. The window itself might have been indestructible by everything short of a high-velocity heavy bolter round, but the frame it was enclosed in was not. The unbreakable window popped out of its emplacement, and both the window and a screaming Marcus plummeted thousands of feet down to the street below. The few remaining suits who were still conscious stood transfixed by the development, and air howled through the gaping wound in the building's façade.

"Holy shit," Nurglebro murmured. "Remind me never to piss off Cultist-chan."

Dranon, however, was pissed. "Chaos damn you, idiot girl! We needed him alive. The _authorization code_, remember!?"

Meanwhile, Cultist-chan walked to the executive telephone and started punching keys at random. To her happy surprise, she finally got an answer.

"Operator," said a voice over the speaker. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Huwee demand groxthburgerth!" Cultist-chan howled.

The operator was surprised by the strange request coming from the strange voice, but she'd worked for BolognaTown Franchises, Inc. for over fifteen years, and she was used to the CEO's whoring and eccentricity. It was just another day in the office for her.

"Of course, ma'am. Are there any special toppings you'd like to request, or maybe a quantity or something?"

"Hundreth of groxthburgerth! Now! Hwue demand them immethiately!"

The operator sighed. "Give me ten minutes. I'll get on it right away. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Groxthburgerth!" Cultist-chan shouted before hanging up the phone.

All of the executives had been murdered, knocked unconscious, or otherwise subdued, and the four soldiers of Chaos stared at Cultist-chan in amazement.

"Huwath?" she demanded.

Zofia was the first to speak.

"Cultist-chan is really weird," the girl said, making a face.

"Huwe are not weird. Huwe juth wanted groxthburgerth."

"How are we going to get _out_ of here?" Nurglebro asked nervously. "The _Borealis_ can't make the jump and we don't have an authorization code for _Burger King_. We're stranded on top of a skyscraper in the middle of an Imperium Hive World and it's not going to take the Adeptus Arbites long to start wondering why there are two bodies splattered in the middle of the street. What do we do?"

"Fuck if I know," Dranon admitted.

"Groxthburgerth!"

"Shut up, Cultist-chan!" Dranon demanded. "Your fucking groxburgers are on their way. Are you glad to _die_ for them?"

"Huwe will noth die. The Chaoth godth will provide."

"I wish I had your faith," Nurglebro muttered.

Zofia walked over to a corner, carrying the arm of an executive who was desperately trying to tourniquet the spurting wound before he bled out. The man was quietly sobbing.

"Don't worry, mister," Zofia said, patting him on the head with his own unattached hand. "We'll be fine."

A few minutes later, the elevator down the hall dinged. Dranon started to go first, but Nurglebro shook his head. He'd stripped one of the least mutilated corpses and put on the deceased's suit and tie, and he was confident that he could trick the delivery boy, at least temporarily.

"Here's the groxburgers you ordered, sir," the courier said, trying not to look too hard at Nurglebro's disgustingly disfigured face.

"Thank you." Nurglebro searched the suit's pockets and was pleased to discover a hundred credit chit.

"Here's your tip, kid," he said, tossing the boy the thick metal coin.

The boy pushed an entire cart full of greasy paper bags out of the elevator and onto the floor of the penthouse. The air was suddenly thick with the smell of lard and low-quality meat-esque byproducts. Despite both his common sense and good taste, Nurglebro found his mouth involuntarily watering.

"Thank you very much, sir!" the delivery boy said genuinely. Then he peered at something over Nurglebro's shoulder. "Hey, is that… blood?"

Before Nurglebro could make an excuse, Dranon bellowed a war cry and burst out of the conference room doors. Nurglebro could only duck as Dranon fired several bolter rounds wildly down the corridor, missing every shot. The deliveryboy screamed and ran back to the elevator, with stray bolter rounds puncturing the walls all around him. He boarded elevator, ducked as a bolt split the air right where his head had been, and jabbed the button for the lobby as hard as he could. Dranon was unable to tag him with a bolt before the elevator whisked him away towards the lower floor at high velocity.

"Shit!" Nurglebro cried. "Damn it Dranon, where did you learn to shoot? ImperialGuardsmanAcademy?"

Dranon snarled, "Fuck you right back! It's not easy to hit a moving target."

"Now what?!" Nurglebro demanded. "That kid is definitely going to call the cops the moment he gets a chance. We're fucked!"

Cultist-chan came out of the conference room, drawn by the smell of groxburgers. She was soon followed by Zofia and Kay-oss.

"Groxthburgerth!" Cultist-chan shouted, her eyes tearing up with joy. "Thidth ith the happieth day of hour life!"

"It's also going to be the last fucking day of your life," Dranon groaned.

"We're fucked," Nurglebro added.

Cultist-chan ignored both of them and dug into the first bag she saw. And there, sitting in its own juices and wrapped in paper that was translucent with fat, sat a glorious, glorious groxburger. Without waiting another instant she jammed the sandwich into her mouth, savoring the grainy texture of the "meat," the sad, wilted leaf of lettuce, and the disgusting special sauce whose ingredients had never been disclosed to either the general public or Imperium health inspectors. Her body rocked from head to toe with a sudden, unexpected orgasm; she creamed her panties and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. She let out a soft moan.

Against his better judgment, Nurglebro picked another burger out of the sack and took a bite before immediately spitting it out on the dark green carpet.

"That's fucking nasty!" he exclaimed.

Cultist-chan ignored him; she was off in her own little world of food-based euphoria. Kay-oss barked, and Nurglebro obligingly threw several groxburgers to the strange creature, who snapped them out of the air greedily and sucked them down his gullet. Even Dranon tried one, even though his suit did all the tasting and digesting for him. The Chaos Marine figured that if he was going to die, he may as well die on a full stomach. Outside, there was a growing cacophony of sirens and klaxons as the Adeptus Arbites surrounded the building with patrol craft.

"If anyone has a plan, now would be an _excellent_ time to share it," Nurglebro cried.

There was suddenly a hole right in front of Cultist-chan's feet, followed almost immediately by the crack of bolter fire. An Adeptus Arbites ship floated up alongside the penthouse, and its loudspeaker crackled.

"We know you're in there!" the loudspeaker announced. "We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up and we won't hurt you!"

"That's not true. We are definitely going to purge them," said another voice over the same speaker.

"_I_ know that!" the first voice retorted. "It's a trick, you know, like a lie?"

The second voice said, "Oh, balls. The speaker is still on."

"Fuck!"

With that, the heavy bolter on top of the small patrol craft opened fire on the penthouse. The air was suddenly full of shards of wood, smoke, and high-velocity shells tearing the building to ribbons. Cultist-chan threw her body over the groxburger cart, hoping to shield them with her own flesh and bones. Dranon fired a few helpless rounds from his bolter at the patrol ship, but it was little use; a handgun wouldn't be able to bring it down with anything less than the luckiest of shots. Meanwhile, a bomber high overhead dropped its payload on the landing pad. A deafening concussion wave blew out all the windows of the penthouse as the bomb hit home. Both _Ebola Borealis_ and _Burger King_ were completely destroyed by the blast, reduced to burnt-out shells of carbonized metal. Nurglebro quietly cried over the loss of his hand-built ship.

"That's it," Dranon murmured. "There's no escape."

A hole exploded in the wall next to his head as a heavy bolter round narrowly missed decapitating him. More bolter fire echoed up the elevator shaft from the ground floor; apparently, the Adeptus Arbites were purging the entire building from the bottom up, just to be safe. When there was an occasional lull in the din when the patrol ship reloaded its heavy bolter, the Chaos invaders could hear screams of massacred office workers drifting up from the lower floors.

Then the elevator dinged, and Dranon aimed his bolter and prepared for the worst.

"Hello, dear ones!" a familiar voice called out. "I can't keep this Warp rift open for long so _please_ hurry up!"

And there, standing in the elevator and holding the doors open with zhir hands, was the Warp deity Slaanesh zhirself.

"Let's go!" Dranon shouted over the renewed bark of heavy bolter fire.

Without hesitation, the Chaos forces ran to board the waiting elevator. Even Cultist-chan hurried along, pushing the cartload of groxburgers as she ran. As soon as they were all aboard Slaanesh let out a strained gasp and allowed the Warp rift to close around them. Almost immediately, they found themselves in Slaanesh-heika's elegant Warp Cathedral. Slaanesh was panting, and zhe wiped a bead of sweat from zhir brow.

"Whew," zhe admitted. "Keeping that Warp Tear open really took a lot out of me. You all get yourselves into so much trouble; I can hardly bear it sometimes."

Cultist-chan threw her arms around the Warp deity and gave zhir a tight hug. "You thaved uth! Thank hyoo tho much!"

"It wasn't for you," Slaanesh lied. "I just wanted a groxburger."

With that, the deity grabbed a groxburger out of its wrapper and took a big bite.

"Ergh!" zhe shrieked. "These taste _awful_. Oh my _me_, how can anyone eat these?"

"They're good," Cultist-chan sniffed.

Slaanesh turned to the rest of the Chaos forces and spoke with a stern tone. "So! Cultist-chan of all people is the only one of you who has any manners. Don't you have something to say to me for rescuing you?"

Nurglebro looked at his feet. "Thank you, Your Excellency."

"Thank you very much," Dranon said with a sigh.

Kay-oss barked.

Zofia ran forward and hugged one of Slaanesh's long, thin legs. She was too scared to say anything out loud, but Slaanesh patted her forgivingly on the head anyway.

"Well!" Slaanesh said primly. "I'm glad that's all settled. Sorry about your ship, Nurglebro, but there was simply no way I could have brought it back with you."

"It's okay, Your Excellency. You saved my life and that's more than I could have asked for."

"Quite so. At any rate, you're all dismissed."

Cultist-chan spoke. "Um, Thlaaneth-chan…"

"What is it?" asked the deity.

"Hyoo can keep the groxthburgerth, if hyoo'd like."

Slaanesh smiled at the gesture and then shook zhir head. "It's okay, Cultist-chan - I'm glad you got a chance to sample your childhood dream one more time. They're all yours."

"Thank hyoo thank hyoo thank hyoo!"

Slaanesh cleared zhir throat. "Well, I'm a _very_ busy goddess, so if you'll all please exit through the portico, I'm sure we'll all meet again soon."

The five servants of Chaos obediently saw themselves out, and each of them rematerialized in their own home. Cultist-chan had to drive away a small casino that had been established in her apartment during her absence, but the intimidating presence of Kay-oss was more than enough to convince the interlopers that it was, in fact, still her home. She was overjoyed to discover that the cart full of groxburgers had reappeared with her.

"Hyoo're a good boy," Cultist-chan said, scratching the monster behind one of his ears.

Kay-oss barked.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Months later, all of the groxburgers were gone. Cultist-chan took to eating the wrappers to make the flavor of home last just a little longer. And, at any rate, it wasn't as though the texture of the paper wrappers was much less appetizing than the burgers themselves. Over the preceding month, Cultist-chan had gained 40 pounds, and her bloated stomach hung over her strained skirt, and her stretch-marked boobs pushed cruelly against her black brassiere. She brushed crumbs out of her fatty cleavage while Kay-oss looked on disapprovingly.

Dranon had been called off to military exercises, and Cultist-chan might have worried for him if she hadn't been secure in the knowledge that the Chaos gods were looking out for them. Abaddon the Despoiler was itching to start another Crusade, and he'd called up all available Marines for training and morale improvement drills. It was hard to say how long Dranon would be on duty under Abaddon's command, but there was no doubt in Cultist-chan's mind that he would someday return to yell at her and watch her back.

Nurglebro got to work on a new secret project and he wouldn't tell anyone about it, not even Cultist-chan. He kept it under a tarp in his garage, and none of her attempts to get him to disclose the secret had swayed him to date. Whatever it was, it was almost guaranteed to get the group into more trouble, and Cultist-chan eagerly looked forward to the day it was revealed. He got a job at a spaceship parts store, which netted him extra income and also an employee discount.

Kay-oss barked.

Zofia started a career as an exotic dancer at Club Ombudsman, and by all accounts, she was much better at it than any 6 year old should be. At least her boss, somewhat chagrinned by his own behavior, vigorously enforced a "no touching" policy while she was onstage. She discovered a natural talent for gymnastics that she never would have learned on her homeworld of Yosemite Prime. To her profound relief, she slowly grew one and then two inches over the ensuing months, and she lost a little more of her youthful puppy fat. She was still a zombie, but at least she was a growing, healthy, aging zombie. She made good money at her job and soon she bought a spacious condo in the upscale district of Simi Secundis' seaside capital. Every morning, she ate a big bowl of ice cream for breakfast.

Slaanesh sipped chilled champagne out of a flute and pondered how to deal with zhir latest victim, who was manacled to a wall and ball gagged in her Cathedral. After a string of disappointments politically, militarily, and sexually, zhe had finally gotten fed up with Daemon Prince Barack Obama. He writhed hopelessly against his chains, and Slaanesh tapped the side of her glass, lost in thought. Should zhe break the man on the wheel? Draw and quarter him? Take him out onto the blood ocean of Simi Secundis and keel haul him across the bottom of her personal yacht? The possibilities were virtually endless. He stared back at her with wild, terrified eyes, knowing that whatever came next, it wouldn't do any favors for his complexion. His tiny, tiny penis, the original source of their dispute, shriveled up between his legs. Suddenly, Slaanesh got an idea. Zhe smiled with self-satisfaction.

* * *

**Author's Note**

[Author:] I honestly can't believe any of you sick fucks made it this far. I think this story has achieved a high water mark as the most depraved thing I've ever written, and I'm kind of worried it'll be purged in the next great digital book burning. Well, if it ever comes to that, rest assured that I'm saving a copy and I'll just find some other site to host it.

I think I'm done with these characters, for now. Maybe I'll go back to The Girl Who Illuminates Time, but I'm not really sure yet. Plus, working with new characters in a different property widens my audience, so there's an incentive to do that. If I made a Kickstarter to release my first book in e-book format, and maybe a short run of print copies, would anyone be interested in that? Anyway…

Thank you for reading!


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